Crossing Paths
by Athenais777
Summary: There has always been a deep rooted animosity between the trio and Draco Malfoy and for good reasons. Yet, they are civil to one another nineteen years after the Battle of Hogwarts. How their paths keep crossing over the years. Ron/Hermione and some Draco/Astoria later on.
1. Interruption

**A/N **_I know I have talked about this for a while but here it is finally: my first attempt at a Ron/Hermione multi-chaptered story. It is an aftermath story and while it will focus on Ron and Hermione, they won't be the only protagonists. If you've read my collection of short stories "Pictures", you may know I like many characters in Harry Potter, including the screwed-up little ferret himself -yes, that's Draco Malfoy. So the spotlight will be on Ron and Hermione and their relationship with Draco Malfoy, including some things seen from Draco's point of view. And before you ask, no, there won't be any romantic relationship between Draco and either of Ron or Hermione. But their paths will continuously cross, hence the title._

_Why this story? Well, I like how in the epilogue, Malfoy nods curtly to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. How did they get to that point after the Hogwarts years where Malfoy kept insulting the three of them and especially after what happened at Malfoy Manor? This is what this story will explore._

_It starts in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, but not directly after the battle (there are plenty of excellent fanfics out there that cover just that: I have a few in my favorite list on my profile.)_

_This story picks up eight weeks after the battle. Things that have already happened: Hermione has retrieved her parents from Australia and she and Ron have already had sex (and will be having some more: they do have to make up for lost time, don't they?)_

_I have rated this story M because I want the freedom that comes with it and there will be sexual situations (although not in all chapters) so consider yourself warned._

_Disclaimer: as much as I wish otherwise, I don't own Harry Potter._

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><p><strong><em>Crossing Paths<em>**

**Chapter 1: Interruption**

Ron closed his eyes blissfully. Hermione had let one of her hands wander underneath his t-shirt. The touch of Hermione's fingers against the skin of his chest was a sensation he would never tire of. She reached for the hem of his t-shirt and he obediently put his arms up above his head as she pulled the garment over his head. That was fair, he thought, as she was only wearing knickers and a bra. Yeah, thinking of it... Wait, why did he bother thinking when her hands were back on him, gently caressing the area around his navel and going even more south? A giant grin spread on his face as her adroit hands dipped lower and were now flirting teasingly with the top of his boxer shorts. She slipped one finger under the waistband, enticing him. At the same time, her lips joined the game and were all over his chest, barely touching him but branding him as hers for the rest of time. He sighed as her tongue made contact with one of his nipples. He had found that there were some definite advantages to having a girlfriend with such a smart mouth.

His hands reached around her, gently touching the soft skin of her back, moving up to the elegant curve of her neck, the one hidden under her mane of fantastic hair. His long fingers were drawing light circles on her shoulders, lowering imperceptibly the wispy straps of her cotton bra down her arms. His lips came to rest on the creamy skin, inhaling the incredible scent of her, making him crave her even more as she moaned in delight. His fingers went to the band of her bra and valiantly fought with that incredibly complicated contraption. A small cry of victory ran through his brain as he managed to untie the pesky garment and let it slide down, revealing the beautiful breasts hidden underneath. He couldn't resist and took one greedily in his mouth, sucking it to a hard tip. Her hands abandoned their exploration of him and just went to ensnare themselves in his hair as she threw her head backward and just let him have his way with her. He could have come just seeing her getting lost in the throes of passion and knowing he was causing it. As he heard her murmur his name, almost chant it, he let his large hand dance along her smooth stomach, fingers snaking lower to the waistband of her knickers. She moaned even louder. He murmured to her:

"Maybe we should put an Imperturbable Charm on my room... Before we get interrupted."

"Yes," she agreed quickly and offerered him a tantalising view of her perfect bum. She grabbed her wand from the pocket of jeans that were lying on the floor, among a heap of discarded clothes.

She was about to say the charm when they heard pounding on the door and Harry's voice:

"Ron, you need to come to the sitting room. There is someone here to see us."

Ron banged his head against the headboard of his bed as images of himself strangling Harry came easily to his mind.

"And Ron," Harry continued with barely suppressed mirth in his voice, "If you happen to see Hermione, she also needs to be there. I can't seem to find her anywhere."

Ron heard Hermione sigh and mumble:

"As much as I love Harry, there are times when I swear I could hex him."

That earned her an amused lopsided grin. Harry knew perfectly well she was with Ron. Hermione suspected that Harry had a very good idea of what he was interrupting.

Ron and Hermione put their clothes back on. As they did so, Hermione reflected on what had happened in the eight weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts. They had soldiered on, burying friends and family, receiving medals and awards none of them cared about, and trying to start the healing process. Ron and she had gone to Australia to retrieve her parents and she had had to tell them the entire story, which unsurprisingly, had not enchanted them. Her parents had moved back to England and resumed their lives as dentists. She went to visit them several times a week, trying to mend the relationship she had damaged when she had decided to modify their memory.

Despite all, she had decided to stay permanently in the magical world and live there. She had of course been welcome at the Burrow where she could be with Ron now that they had finally found each other. It had taken them seven years to finally admit what they felt for each other and act on it but they had made up for the time lost. It had taken little time for them to figure out sex was a wonderful outlet to express their passion and love for one another. They had needed to prove they were alive, to feel, and to find solace in each other's arms. They might have been inexperienced but had remedied this problem by practicing a lot, which had challenges of its own, especially with a place as cramped as the Burrow. Harry's interruption was just one of the many things they had become accustomed to circumventing.

Ron had put his jeans back on, feeling quite uncomfortable as he still had a raging hard-on. She promised him to tend to it later which put him in a mood laced with frustration and anticipation. He was still holding his t-shirt in one hand, as he kissed her briefly before reaching for the door and announcing:

"Let me go and kick Harry's arse for interrupting."

He heard her laugh softly as he went down the rickety stairs toward the sitting room. He was pulling his t-shirt over his head as he spoke:

"Harry fucking Potter, I'm going to hex your bollocks off. I don't care if the bloody minister of magic himself is here. My girlfriend was just about to shag me brainless."

As his head came out of the t-shirt, Ron found three pairs of eyes looking at him: His father's, Harry's, and Kingsley Shacklebolt's. Ron felt himself blush to a colour he was sure could only be found in tomatoes. He saw Harry double over in laughter. His father had the decency of looking thoroughly shocked, although Ron could see the twinkle of amusement in the blue eyes so much like his. And was that an upward twitch at the corner of Kingsley's mouth? Brilliant, he had made a complete tit of himself in front of his father and the minister of magic.

"Ron, nice to see you too. I am sure you're glad your mother didn't hear that," Kingsley said in his booming voice as he tapped Ron on the back. "As bloody minister of magic, I need to talk with you, Harry, and Hermione."

"Somebody called my name?" came Hermione's voice as she entered the living room. She went to stand between Harry and Ron, noticing Ron's very red ears and Harry's downcast eyes. She also saw a slight discomfort in Mr. Weasley's face and thought it might be better for her not to know what had just transpired before she had entered the room. She turned to Kingsley and smiled at him.

"Kingsley, so nice to see you. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"You may want to sit down," Kingsley replied, all seriousness returned.

Hermione lodged herself on the sofa between Ron and Harry.

Kingsley and Arthur sat down in the armchairs on the opposite side:

"It's about the Malfoys. There will be an audience in front of the Wizengamot to decide of their fate. As you know, they have been under what I think the Muggles would call house arrest since the battle. They are all wandless at this point and Lucius has been quick to give us the names of many Death Eaters on the run."

"Of course he has to snitch on his former acolytes," Arthur said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not to help us, but to keep his arse out of Azkaban." His dislike for Lucius Malfoy was more evident than ever.

"No disagreement there, Arthur. He is a slimy one, Malfoy is," Kingsley said in his deep voice. "Their fate will be decided next week. And we need the three of you to testify."

"Why us?" Harry asked, all trace of his laughter from a minute ago completely erased.

"Harry, your account of what Narcissa did in the Forbidden Forest is why she isn't in Azkaban. There is also the fact that they chose not to fight during the Battle. That kept all of them out of Azkaban. And there is the fact we can't find any proof of what they did during the war."

"We raided Malfoy Manor after the battle," Arthur took over solemnly. We found a few dark artefacts but no trace of what really happened there. All we can rely on is your testimony."

"What about Ollivander?" Harry asked. "He was a prisoner there for a while."

"Yes and he said he had been tortured by Wormtail, Voldemort himself, or Bellatrix, but never the Malfoys. He's also quite frail and wants to put this behind him," Kingsley said. "I know from what you told us, Hermione, that the Malfoys were instrumental in your torture, even if Bellatrix did all the wand work. If we had your account of their action, or inaction in this case..."

Kinglsey stopped mid-sentence. Hermione had gone as white as a sheet and Ron's arm had come to rest protectively around her. She was speechless. It had been painful enough to recount what had happened at Malfoy Manor to the Weasleys and her parents but she didn't think she could do kit in front of the entire Wizengamot. As if reading her thoughts, Ron asked Kingsley:

"Will Hermione have to tell about what happened to her in front of the entire Wizengamot?"

"Well, this is why I came here. You three have a deeper story about the Malfoys than anyone else. I also know how painful it is," he added sympathetically as he smiled sadly at Hermione. "So, I would say that most of their fate lies with you. You should probably talk about it among yourselves first before making a decision. I need to go back to the office," he said as he rose.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, Arthur." He nodded as he went outside to Disapparate.

Arthur Weasley looked at the three saviours of the wizarding world and to him, they were just three teenagers, one of them his child by blood and the other two as good as his. And he thought once again how incongruous it was that such young souls should be confronted with such grave decisions.

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><p><em>So, you have it. Please let me know what you think of the premise for the story (reviews or PM).<em>


	2. Decision

**A/N **_Thank you so much to everyone who read the first chapter and placed the story on their favorite list, or signed for alerts or took the time to leave wonderful words of encouragement through reviews. It means a lot and is the best motivator I can think of to keep writing._

_Second chapter up, yeah! This one picks up where the previous one ended. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: as much as I wish otherwise, I don't own Harry Potter._

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><p><strong>Decision<strong>

Ron turned back to Hermione who had gone deathly pale. She was clutching his arm, as if for dear life. She finally turned to Mr. Weasley and asked him quietly:

"What do you think will happen if we don't say anything about what happened at Malfoy Manor when we were captured?"

"What?" Ron bellowed before Mr. Weasley had time to open his mouth. "You want them to get away with what they did?"

"Ron," she pleaded softly. "I have my reasons. Besides, they weren't the ones holding the wand. Bellatrix was."

"They didn't do anything to stop her!" he exploded, the pain of the worst moment of his young life evident in his voice.

"Ron, calm down please," Harry said quietly. "We need to keep our heads level for this one. I understand why Hermione wouldn't want to talk about it, especially not in front in the entire Wizengamot."

Ron opened his mouth like a fish but no sound came out.

"Now, if I may," interrupted Arthur. "To answer your question, Hermione, I think Narcissa would be free because of Harry's account of what she did during the Battle and the impact it had."

"Yeah, at least one of the three Malfoys has some bollocks," Ron added sardonically.

"As for Draco, from what Harry has told us, he was coerced into doing Voldemort's bidding through various threats to his life or his parents' lives."

Harry remembered some of what he had seen in the Pensieve: Dumbledore telling Snape about how Draco's soul hadn't been damaged yet. Harry thought of his old nemesis. Somehow his loathing of Malfoy was now mixed with pity, copious amounts of it.

"I think Draco is still a pathetic coward but I don't believe he is evil, not like Voldemort or Bellatrix were, not even like his father. Putting him in Azkaban wouldn't serve any good," Harry said.

"It wouldn't?" Ron asked sarcastically.

"No, it wouldn't," Harry replied plainly.

"What about Lucius?" Hermione asked.

"As I said, we didn't find any evidence at the Manor," Arthur answered. "If you choose to remain silent, Hermione, there probably won't be anything against him. Besides, it is a well known fact he was wandless. Any good defence would argue that he was trapped himself and unable to do anything else but Voldemort's bidding."

"This is fucking ridiculous," exclaimed Ron who seemed like he was about to spit fire.

"But that's not all," Arthur continued quietly. "I am afraid that even with Hermione and your testimony, old Lucius still has enough friends in the Wizengamot and enough gold in Gringotts to slither out of that one, just like he did after the first war."

"But we won," Ron said with a croaky voice. "We're not supposed to have things like that anymore."

"Oh Ron," Hermione told him with great tenderness as she gently grabbed his arm, "You didn't think that getting rid of Voldemort would also obliterate all the prejudices of this world, did you?"

A part of him wanted to say yes but he knew, deep inside of him, that she was unfortunately correct.

"There are still plenty of pureblood wizards out there who are just as prejudiced as before. And some of them still sit on the Wizengamot. And trust me, they won't care about the torture of a Mudblood," Hermione said.

"Don't call yourself that heinous word!" Ron interjected. "You are the brightest witch I know, many times more talented than any of these fucking old bigots. And braver, Hermione. You are one of the bravest persons I know. And the world should know what really happened, that the bloody Malfoys didn't lift a finger while that mad bitch tortured you. You are right, they shouldn't go to Azkaban, they should die for that," he said with a quiet sob.

"Ron, you are seeking revenge when we need healing and reconciliation. Revenge only brings resentment and bitterness," Hermione told him as quiet tears started running down her cheeks.

"I don't need your great words, Hermione. I just want justice for what happened to you. I'm sorry, but I can't just give up. Are you just gonna give up? I won't let you."

As he said these words, Hermione gave him an icy glare. Her hand came away from his arm. She spoke in a quiet voice:

"It's not for you to decide. I make my own decisions. And I won't tell what happened in front of the Wizengamot. I love you, Ron, but that doesn't give you the right to rule my life."

She rose from the sofa and turned slowly toward the door. She left the room, shutting the door on his desperate "Hermione!"

What had he done? How had he managed to fuck up so completely? He was running after her when he felt a hand grasp his arm.

"Don't," his father said. "She needs some time alone."

"Harry," Ron pleaded.

"Your dad is right. As much as I hate it, I can respect her decision."

"So you don't care that the Malfoys get away with what they did?" Ron asked with anger still obvious in his voice.

"I do but I care more about what Hermione feels. It's not black and white, Ron. Narcissa saved my life. She did it to protect Draco, just like my Mum died to protect me. And Draco, he was just too scared. He chose easy over right and I don't think he realised his error until he was too much into the wrong side. As for Malfoy senior, I still think he's a sorry excuse for a man, vile and cruel but he is talking, a lot, and that may help us more in the end."

"Harry is right," Arthur pursued. Nobody wants Lucius Malfoy in a cell in Azkaban more than I do, Ron. But between his connections and the fact that he is collaborating, we can't ignore that we won't get what we want exactly."

"I...I," Ron stammered. "I just want to hurt them for not doing anything to protect her from that mad bitch. I... wish they could suffer the Cruciatus curse like she did, so they can taste the pain and I think I could happily cast the curse on them."

"Harry," Arthur said quietly, "might I have a word with Ron, please?" he asked gently.

"Right," Harry replied. "I'll be upstairs," he told them, an invitation for Ron to come and talk with him afterward.

Harry exited the room and closed the door behind him. Arthur turned back to face Ron and put a gentle hand on his son's shoulder before asking him:

"Ron, you really love her, don't you?"

"Yes," he croaked before clearing his throat and affirming: "Yes, I do love her."

"Then what you are feeling is normal. It's a very human reaction but it isn't justice. It's revenge. Hurting the Malfoys may bring satisfaction but it won't undo what happened to Hermione. It won't help us heal. And Hermione is right..."

"She always is," Ron sighed.

Arthur chuckled at that comment.

"Women tend to be. Something I learnt early on with your Mum. But Hermione is right: Revenge will only bring emptiness and bitterness."

Ron looked at his father. He noticed the bald spot had grown bigger and that the hair that was left had more sandy than red. Behind his glasses, the lines around his eyes had multiplied. War and grief had taken a toll on Arthur Weasley. He had to ask him:

"Dad, if someone had hurt Mum the way Hermione was hurt, wouldn't you want to hurt them back?"

"Of course, I would," Arthur answered. "But that doesn't mean it is the right thing to do," he added wisely.

Ron was mulling his father's words when Arthur spoke again:

"Now, Ron, I need to ask you something, about you and Hermione. Are you being careful?"

Ron drew a blank stare for a second while he processed what his father had abruptly changed the topic of the conversation to.

"Bloody hell, Dad!" he exclaimed as he finally understood where his father was going. "You've already asked about this."

"I take it you are being careful then, right?"

"Yes, you drilled the charm in my head since I was twelve." Ron sighed, the tips of his ears very red. It was awkward being interrogated about his sexual activities by his own father. "And this is Hermione, always prepared for everything," Ron added with humour and affection.

"Well, I had to check, didn't I? It took some cajoling to get your mother convinced Hermione and you were old enough to make your own decisions and be responsible about it."

"Thanks for that," Ron answered gratefully.

"Well, let's just say I've been eighteen and in love too," Arthur replied with a shrug and a smile.

Becoming serious again, Arthur pursued:

"I really like Hermione. She is a clever girl and knows what she wants. And Ron, the girl is heads over heels in love with you. So she'll come around. Now, off to bed. Sleep on this and you'll be better tomorrow."

Easy for him to say, Ron thought. He had to see Hermione first and apologise... Why did this scenario feel so familiar?

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><p>Hermione arrived in Ginny's room and shut the door a bit more arduously than she had intended. She was still angry at Ron's words. Didn't he see how much it gutted her to think of Malfoy Manor, let alone talk about it in front of an audience of strangers, some of whom would still be hostile to her because she was Muggle-born? She walked in the dark room toward the bed in the far corner of the room. Truth was she hadn't slept there in many nights, probably weeks, instead sharing Ron's bed. But she couldn't tonight, not after what had happened.<p>

She discerned Ginny's shape in the dark and hoped she wouldn't wake up her friend, as she made her way blindly toward the bed. Halfway however, she hit her toe and let out a loud:

"Ouch"

She saw a sleepy Ginny light her wand and ask her:

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" Ginny yawned. "What did my idiot of a brother do this time?"

"Nothing," Hermione lied.

"Come on, Hermione, you wake me up, you owe me the truth. What did he do?"

"We had a row."

"What else is new?"

"He wants to make decisions for me and I told him he couldn't."

"Ah! Typical Ron. Maybe one day he'll learn. You can light your wand. You're more than welcome to stay here," Ginny said in another yawn as she laid her head back on her pillow.

As Hermione undressed and got herself in the comfortable bed, she couldn't help replaying the scene in her head. Had she overreacted? She fell asleep with images of Ron's anger upon thinking of Malfoy Manor. The bed was cosy and warm, like everything at the Burrow, but it felt cold and empty without all six feet and two inches of Ron next to her. She knew she wouldn't have a quiet night.

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><p>In a room a few floors above, Ron had rejoined Harry who was trying to dissuade his somewhat stubborn friend from making another mistake:<p>

"Ron, leave her alone tonight, she needs some time to mull things over. Remember how she reacts when she is angry: birds, punches..." Harry enumerated as he counted on his fingers.

Ron had to smile at Harry's cheek.

"Am I a masochist, Harry?"

"I think the pair of you are: you keep arguing all the time. What's so fun about that?"

With a mischievous grin, Ron answered:

"Making up."

"You are disgusting!"

Harry got solemn again.

"Seriously, Ron, she doesn't want to talk about Malfoy Manor and you have to respect that, even if that means Lucius Malfoy walks out a free man."

"I know, mate," Ron replied with a deep sigh. I really fucked things up, didn't I? I just..." Ron trailed off

"What?"

"I hate this happened to her. I hate I couldn't prevent it. I feel like... like I failed. I failed to protect her. I failed her."

"Ron, if anybody failed her, it's me. I am the one who said his name."

"Will you bloody stop that, Harry? It's not always about you, you know."

Harry was silent for a second.

"Right, Hermione. You didn't fail her. And she is strong, very strong, she can protect herself... and make her own decisions."

"Bloody hell, Harry, you know I didn't mean it that way."

"Didn't you?"

"Piss off"

"Right. I'll let you go to sleep then. G'night."

"Night," Ron mumbled back.

"Ron?"

"What?"

"Are you gonna be okay? Sleeping alone?"

"Bloody hell, Harry, I don't want you in my bed."

"Well, I don't fancy sharing your bed either. But I can stay here and sleep on my old bed if you want."

Ron said nothing. Harry knew his friend hadn't slept alone in over six months and a lot had changed since then. And then, there were the nightmares. It was nice to have someone to wake you when you had them.

"Just don't moan in your sleep about my sister, you wanker," Ron mumbled.

"Back at you, twat," Harry answered with the same cheek.

They went to bed and extinguished their wands. Ron's bed was rather small and usually felt cramped when Hermione was in it but it was oddly empty without her. It wasn't going to be a good night, he thought with a sigh.

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><p><em><strong>AN **Will Ron and Hermione make up? You'll have to see next chapter..._

_As for Hermione's decision, I debated about having her testify about what happened to her and what role the Malfoys played in it. While Hermione has enormous courage, I think the experience would also be extremely traumatic and not necessarily something she would like to share with the world. She will give more explanation for her decision in the upcoming chapters._

_Please let me know what you think of the premise for the story (reviews or PM)._


	3. I need you tonight

**A/N** _Third chapter is up, yeah!_

_I wanted to send a big thank you for the lovely and thoughtful reviews I have received. It amazes me how much care and thought readers put in their reviews. And this helps tremendously. As a writer on this site, the only feedback one gets is through reviews or private messages. And when readers take the time to write a review, it means they care enough about your story to let you know what you're doing well and what you're not doing so well. I don't want to write in a vacuum so this is invaluable._

_On another note, I want to mention I look at every reviewer's profile and will definitely read some of your stories and leave a review (Harry Potter only)? This is how I've discovered some great stories!_

_Now, unto this chapter. It picks up where the last ended. A little lemon here and first appearance by Draco (although not at the same time as the lemon!)_

_Enjoy and please leave a review if you do (or even if you don't.)_

_Disclaimer: in my dreams, I own Harry Potter and Ron Weasley is real..._

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><p><strong>I need you tonight<strong>

He could hear her scream as the mad witch repeated the word "Crucio" with sadistic pleasure. He was trapped in that ancient cellar, sobbing like a little girl and utterly powerless. He had failed her. Again! She screamed again. Harry told him to keep calm. He couldn't. He punched the stone wall in anger and frustration, leaving blood on his knuckles. She was going to die. He was going to lose her. He screamed for her again, a wild howl of rage and anguish.

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><p>Harry had woken the minute he had heard a faint wail sounding like "Hermione". He was standing over Ron's bed, his wand lit, trying unsuccessfully to wake Ron up. Ron was thrashing wildly in his sleep and calling for Hermione. Harry shook him more forcefully.<p>

"Come on, Ron, wake up," he pleaded.

"Hermione, Hermione," Ron bellowed in his sleep.

Harry cast a silencing charm at the door of the room. There was no need to wake up the Burrow. He attempted again to wake Ron up but only saw more agitation coming from his friend as he kept screaming for Hermione. Harry knew what nightmare that was. He had no choice. He had to get Hermione.

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><p>Hermione was tossing in bed, reliving the events of the evening. Couldn't Ron understand why she didn't want to go in front of an audience? And then she wondered, couldn't she understand Ron's point of view. There had to be a better way. A way that would allow her to avoid testifying but that would also serve justice. An idea started forming in her brain, that might achieve just that. She would talk with Harry and Ron in the morning. Ron... They still had so many things to sort through.<p>

Hermione finally fell into sleep. It was restless at first and then the familiar nightmare started. She felt Bellatrix's horrible breath close to her face. She tried to escape the reality of her predicament by thinking Bellatrix could really use the services of a dentist, especially for that horrible case of halitosis. And then the pain came again, excruciating, as if a thousand knives were piercing her body at once. She wanted to give up. Why fight anymore? Death would be a welcome relief. And then she heard him, hollering her name and Bellatrix's words came back to her "if she dies under questioning, you're next." No, she couldn't die. She couldn't or Ron would die too. She wouldn't allow that. She had to keep her mind, remove herself from the unbearable pain. Another "Crucio" and she screamed and he called her name like a wailing animal. Then the voice became much softer, more feminine but just as urgent.

"Hermione, Hermione, wake up."

She woke up with a start, seeing familiar red hair and Ginny's worried face above her.

"Ginny," she murmured.

"You were having a nightmare," Ginny told her. "Are you all right? Do you need anything? Some water, tea?"

Hermione had to appreciate the worry in her friend, along with her resemblance to Mrs. Weasley. But what she wished for wasn't possible. She couldn't undo the past.

"No, thank you, Ginny."

Before she had time to say more, they heard a knock on the door and Harry's animated voice.

"Ginny!"

Ginny opened the door and a moment passed between Harry and her when they just took each other in appreciatively. It was over fast, however, as it was obvious that Harry's visit was not for romantic purposes. Harry saw Hermione and immediately frowned as he saw her ashen face and sweaty hair. She had had a nightmare too. He went to her and spoke gently but to the point:

"Hermione, you've just had a nightmare, haven't you?"

"I guess you would know a thing or two about those," she muttered back.

"Yes, I do," he answered with a hint of humour in his voice. He became serious again.

"Hermione, I need you upstairs."

"If it's about Ron, I'm not inclined to see him now," she answered somewhat crossly, as she crossed her arms against her chest.

"Hermione! He's having a nightmare and I can't wake him up."

At this, the expression on her face shifted to one of worry. She got off the bed and walked briskly past Harry and Ginny. Harry stood to follow her but she swiftly stopped him with her hand.

"I need to do this alone, Harry," she told him softly but with finality before exiting the room quickly.

Harry knew Hermione well enough to know she meant what she said. He let a loud sigh and sat next to Ginny on her bed.

"Malfoy Manor?" Ginny asked.

"I think so. We haven't dealt with all of it," Harry replied truthfully.

"What really happened?" Ginny inquired.

"We told you. We got caught and Hermione was..."

He swallowed hard.

"She was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry said in a voice heavy with guilt.

"I wasn't talking about Malfoy Manor, Harry. What happened tonight?"

Harry explained Kingsley's visit and what he had asked of the three of them. He told Ginny about Hermione's reaction and the row that had ensued between her and Ron.

"Why wouldn't she testify?" Ginny asked, somewhat agitated.

"I don't think she wants to talk about what happened in public. That's enough for me."

Ginny couldn't help smiling affectionately at Harry. It was odd how fine she was with her boyfriend loving another girl so much. It was probably because she knew that it was a very different kind of love from the one he had for her. If anything, it made her love Harry even more.

"All right," Ginny conceded. "I can understand that."

She grew quiet for a minute and then asked Harry boldly:

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Wha...what?"

"I don't think Hermione is coming back," she told him as a pretty blush spread across the flawless skin of her cheeks.

Harry swallowed. He had resumed his relationship with Ginny but nothing had gone further than heavy snogging and some fondling. He certainly wanted more but was ready to wait for her.

"Harry, I just want you to hold me, with our clothes on, nothing more," she added when she saw his face reflecting what looked like a difficult internal struggle.

"Oh! All right then," he accepted in a voice that oozed both relief and a hint of disappointment.

He slid under the cover next to her and heard her add quietly:

"For now."

He chuckled to himself and gently wrapped his arms around her, her promise and the flowery smell of her hair bringing him to a sleep filled with happy dreams.

* * *

><p>Hermione had almost run up the three flights of stairs to Ron's room. As she opened his bedroom, she could hear him scream for her like he had a few months before and she was thankful Harry had cast a silencing charm. She saw Ron thrashing wildly, his long limbs tangled in the sheets of his bed. She got close to him and started gently stroking his cheek. She spoke clearly to him:<p>

"Wake up, Ron, I'm here. I'm well."

That last part wasn't completely true but she needed the illusion. It took a few tries but suddenly he opened his eyes and as they came to rest on her, she was quickly engulfed into strong arms.

He would not let go of her. He must have hurt her holding her so tight but she didn't protest, quite the contrary, her arms went around his neck and she held onto him as if for dear life.

"Hermione," she heard him murmur in her hair. The fear, pain, and relief were all there.

"You wouldn't wake up," was all she told him in a croaky voice before his lips came crashing on hers.

There was urgency, a primal need to touch her, feel her and know she was alive. She didn't withdraw. Instead she responded with as much fervour, their row of a few hours ago completely forgotten. She needed him, needed to have his arms around her, his large hands roaming all over her, his mouth devouring hers.

He made them roll over and pinned her under him, his lips never leaving hers. She felt safe that way, his much bigger body hovering over her. He removed his lips from hers and she felt bereft at the loss. He looked at her and adoration shone along with unshed tears in his eyes. He murmured her name again, as his fingers started a slow dance across her arms. They then moved to the hem of the top of her pyjamas, reaching the smooth skin underneath. She gasped at the familiar sensation and aided him by unbuttoning the pesky garment, exposing her bare chest. She wanted more of him, wanted him with an intensity that sometimes scared her.

And he was tender with her, worshipping her skin with lips and fingers, revering every square inch of the smooth surface. Each kiss was a testament of his love for her. He was awkward with words so he showed her in his own way how much he loved her. As she felt his hair gently tickle her belly, as she felt his lips softly touch her skin, she knew there would never be anybody else. It was him, just him. She let him remove her pyjamas bottoms and helped him discard his own. He settled between her legs and, while looking at her, just said her name in a question:

"Hermione?"

"Please," was her only answer as she opened wider to welcome him.

He plunged and they melded together, two parts that had always been meant to be together. There was gentleness and tenderness in his moves, even as he pumped hard inside of her and made her chant his name over and over. He felt her clench around him and let go with a guttural moan.

He collapsed next to her and gathered her in his arms. He didn't realise that the tears that had clung to his lashes were now freely rolling down his cheeks. She reached to wipe one of them. Her own eyes were wet.

He tried humour:

"Look at us, we just shagged and we're crying about it."

That brought a watery smile as he expected.

"You know it isn't about what we just did, and don't use vulgarity."

That sobered him.

"What happened?" she asked him.

"You weren't in my bed," he stated simply.

He had had this nightmare a few times, but never when she was lying next to him.

"Through your own fault," she replied. "But I'm talking about the nightmare. You scared me, Ron. Harry came to fetch me because he couldn't wake you up. And I had a hard time too."

"What do you think I had a nightmare about?" he asked her somewhat forcefully.

"Don't you yell at me!" her voice was dangerously cold and calmed him instantly.

"I'm sorry. For now and for earlier tonight. I just dreamt about Malfoy Manor and you... and she... she was killing you," he finally said in a barely audible whisper.

"I had the same nightmare," she admitted. "Talking about it tonight just... well it brought everything back," she added.

"I know," he told her as he squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm sorry I was a prat. I don't want to make decisions for you. I just..."

"What?" She asked him as her brown eyes looked at him eagerly.

He sighed deeply, gathering some courage to tell her what was weighing so heavily on his mind.

"Sometimes, I wish I could bring Bellatrix back so I could torture her into a slow death. I want to hurt the Malfoys, to make them pay for what they did. I never thought I could kill someone until Malfoy Manor. But now, I think... no, I know I could if anyone hurt you again like she did."

He was looking at a point a foot above her head, certain she would break up with him for being such a fucked-up person, who had just admitted he had homicidal instincts. But instead, she placed her small hands on each side of his face and forced him to look at her.

"Ron, look at me," she told him softly. "You want revenge. It's normal. Merlin knows I wanted to return the favour to Bellatrix, and not only for what she did to me."

"There'd probably 've been a queue, if you ask me."

She chuckled lightly but her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"It hurts just thinking of it," she admitted shyly. "I don't think I could talk about it in public. Can you understand that?" she asked him earnestly.

"Part of me does. Doesn't make it easier," he told her.

"Well, this is a big part of it but I have a plan," she said a bit more self-assured.

"Do you? Imagine that. Hermione Granger has a plan, something unheard of," he joked.

That earned him a swat on the shoulder and a small smile from her, genuine this time. His mouth spoke before thoughts were fully formed

"You're so fucking brilliant. I love you, Hermione. I don't know what I would do without you."

"I'm here", she whispered back to him as she laid a gentle kiss on his lips. He encircled her in his arms and they quickly fell into a much more peaceful sleep as they held each other.

* * *

><p>A little over a hundred miles away, in Wiltshire, a young man was waking up abruptly from a nightmare himself. He sat wildly in the dark, reaching blindly for the wand he no longer had, courtesy of Harry Fucking Potter. Draco was sweating profusely as he tried to banish from his brain the images of various people on the receiving end of the Cruciatus curse that had so vividly populated his dreams.<p>

He had been forced to be the caster of the curse on occasions but the one that seemed to be etched in his brain was that of Granger at the hand of his deeply deranged aunt. As much as he had despised the Mudblood, he couldn't get out of his mind the sight of her writhing in pain on the marble floor, while he could clearly hear Weasley scream his lungs out for her.

Each time he remembered how he had been paralyzed, as if in a bad dream. His entire life seemed to be a bad dream and had been for the last two years. He couldn't understand why this scene kept haunting him. He loathed both Granger and Weasley. Why couldn't he get them out of his head and dreams?

* * *

><p><strong>AN **_I did say they would make up. That's their relationship: rowing and making up. Also, while I love Harry and even like his relationship with Ginny (a neurotic boy like Harry needs a strong confident girl like Ginny), I think that's as far as I will write about their physical relationship. And they are still a sweet couple._

_Anyway, next chapter will see more of Hermione's plan and more of Draco and should be up in a week or so (I am trying to keep this updated weekly.)_

_Please let me know how you liked it and don't be shy if there are things that aren't working as well as long as it is phrased constructively. I received a really good one of these reviews last week and it was tremendously useful._

_Thank you for reading!_


	4. A plan

**A/N** Thank you to every one who read and especially to those who took the time to review last chapter.

_Keeping up with my weekly update: here's another chapter! So what was that plan Hermione fathomed? Answer here. We also see a bit more of Draco in this one._

_Please read and, well, you know what to do after that (there's a small linkat he end to help you, nudge nudge, wink wink.)_

_Disclaimer: as if..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: A Plan<strong>

As she woke up, Hermione started stirring and stretching, trying to extricate herself from a strong arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She tried to gently move the large hand and just felt the embrace tighten, betraying Ron's being awake.

He was sprawled on his somach, his face turned toward her and she could see a hint of a smile forming there. She tried to free herself again and the arm tightened as the corners of his mouth lifted higher.

"Ron, I know you're awake. I really have to use the toilet," she told him, half laughing.

"But you're warm," he mumbled. "And naked, and close to me."

"And my bladder is about to explode."

"Always know how to say romantic things, don't you?"

He opened his eyes and slowly stretched to sit next to her. He let go of her and she stayed where she was, staring at him and the length of his bare body. He was not handsome by classical standards. He was tall but lanky, with feet and hands slightly too big for his limbs. He was not extraordinaly muscular either, although some muscle was showing in his biceps. She didn't think she had seen a more beautiful sight in the morning.

He coughed slightly and as intended, it brought her back to reality.

"Enjoying the show?"

He had the satisfaction to see her blush before her sharp tongue caught up:

"You stare at me just as much."

Before he had a chance to do anything else, they heard a soft knock on the door.

"Ron, it's Harry. Are you decent? How are you doing?"

"Fuck off, Harry!" Ron replied from his bed.

"Yeah, doing great, I see. Right, I'll be on my way to breakfast. We need to talk."

They heard his footsteps down the stairs. Hermione tore herself from Ron's embrace and told him:

"I still need to use the loo. And Harry is right, the three of us need to talk. I need to explain my plan."

He groaned in frustration. She just gave him a quick kiss and gathered her pyjamas that had been discarded on the floor the previous night.

"I'll be in the kitchen eating breakfast," she smiled.

She took care of her pressing needs and walked into the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley cooking and chatting with Harry who was sitting at the table, enjoying what looked like scones.

"Good morning, Dear," she greeted Hermione.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione greeted her back. "May I help you with anything?"

"No, Dear, it's quite all right. Have a seat. Would you like some scones?"

"Yes, please," Hermione answered as she sat across from Harry who was already dressed.

She took a look at her friend and he gave her a look that meant: we need to talk.

As if on cue, Mrs. Weasley mentioned something about clothes needing washing and left the kitchen.

"You never came back to Ginny's room," he told her matter-of-factly.

"You never came back to Ron's room," she replied in the same tone.

They both burst into laughter before Harry regained his composure and asked her seriously:

"How are you, Hermione? You looked shaken yesterday."

"I was. I still am. Harry, it's going to take a while to put this episode of my life behind me and... Well, I don't feel like talking about it in front of strangers. I know that may mean Lucius Malfoy walks out a free man but..."

"Hermione," he stopped her. "You don't need to explain yourself. I get it. And I don't care if Lucius Malfoy walks a free man if that can spare you any kind of pain. You suffered enough," he added softly with downcast eyes.

She took his hand and made him look in her eyes.

"Harry, we all suffered. Things had to happen a certain way. Now, stop beating yourself up over it."

"Ron and you have sacrificed so much."

"Harry, remember when we met in Ron's bedroom before Bill and Fleur's wedding, when Ron showed you the ghoul in the attic?"

"Yes," he replied somewhat confused.

"Well, what did we tell you then?"

"That... that you knew the risks."

"Exactly."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. Thank you for everything you did and went through," he told her.

He had told her many times in the last eight weeks but seemed to need to say it as often as he could. She smiled back at him before he started again.

"Ron will come around too about this. He just..."

"I know," she interrupted him. "He and I talked last night."

"Talked, right," Harry snorted and earned himself a slap on the arm. He became very serious again.  
>"How is Ron? The nightmare was bad last night, wasn't it?"<p>

"Yes, it was," she agreed.

"Hermione, I don't know how to say this but when you were... when you were tortured, Ron was too. He might not have been Crucioed like you were but I think it was worse for him."

"I know, Harry," she told him quietly. "I heard him. That's what kept me going through the pain. And the nightmare last night was not the first one. It's another reason why I don't want to talk about this in public."

"We're completely fucked up people, aren't we?" Harry sighed.

She smiled lightly before telling him:

"No, we're not. And there is no need for that kind of language. It's just that you're not the only one with scars now," she told him truthfully while squeezing his hand.

He squeezed back, trying to put in the gesture all the love and gratefulness he had for her.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Please look after Ron when I'm back at Hogwarts."

"I will," he promised her as he rose and engulfed her in a tight hug.

He let her go and they both sat back in their chairs, Hermione wiping a rogue tear off the corner of her eye. That was when Ron appeared in the kitchen and his eyes automatically stopped on Hermione crying.

"Why are you crying?" he asked her in lieu of greeting. "What did Harry do to you?"

The last part was said with humour but still held a discernible edge.

"Actually, we were talking about you," Harry answered with a smirk.

Brilliant, Ron thought. Talking about him made her tear up. Just then, she reached his hand and made him sit next to him. The warmth of her hand reminded him of what they had shared the previous night and he felt himself blush to Harry's disgust:

"I didn't need to see that look, Ron."

Ron sniggered and helped himself to one of his mother's scones.

"Get used to it," he told Harry, a piece of scone in his mouth.

She cleared her throat. Despite all that the three of them had gone through, there were times when Harry and Ron were still maddeningly like they had been at Hogwarts: immature boys.

"Right, boys, we need to talk. Seriously talk," Hermione interrupted.

She saw them both sober and turn to listen to her. She had to explain what had sprouted in her mind the previous night as she had been tossing in bed in Ginny's room. She took a deep sigh and started:

"You both know why I don't want to testify. But I have another reason. There is this plan I have."

"A plan? Really, Hermione? How unexpected of you," Harry cheeked.

She glared at him in a look that quieted him immediately. What she didn't tell Harry was that his tease helped her relax. It was Ron and Harry. She could talk to them.

"Right, a plan. Go on, tell us about it," Harry quickly added under Ron's barely contained mirth.

"Well, I know both of you want to go on catching dark wizards but I want to do something else. This is why I am going back to school. I want to change things from the inside. Work for the ministry and eradicate these stupid and outdated laws. That's what I want to do."

"All right," Ron said. "We knew that."

It had been a difficult decision to make and had generated heated arguments and even more heated make up sessions but they had come to terms with the fact Ron would pursue the Auror training offered by Kingsley while Hermione would go back to Hogwarts to complete her education and most likely earn a record number of N.E.W.T.'s.

"And what does it have to do with not testifying?" Ron continued.

"I think I can use the Malfoys later on to help me in that endeavour."

They both looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"I didn't say they would do it willingly!" she defended herself. "This is where my plan comes into play. I want to meet with Kingsley and see if he will approve but I want to make a deal with the Malfoys."

"And why would you do something so fucking mental?" Ron asked perplexed.

"Oh, I have my reasons. Remember Rita Skeeter?"

"Why would you mention the hag when I was enjoying a perfect breakfast?" Harry asked her.

"Well, I think we can deal with the Malfoys the same way we did with her."

"Blackmail?" Ron asked, catching on Hermione's drift.

"Precisely," Hermione replied.

"Go on," Harry invited her, his curiosity piqued.

"Well, I don't want to testify in public but the Malfoys don't know that. If it comes out they were an accessory to my... torture," she said the word with great effort, "well, if it comes out, they risk a long sentence in Azkaban. So the deal I have in mind is this: I won't testify but I will write a signed affidavit, and you two will too, to record what truly happened. If the Malfoys behave themselves and support certain causes we will choose for them, the signed affidavit will destroy itself after fifteen years."

"Why fifteen years?" Ron asked.

"Honestly, Ron, you want to become an Auror but haven't studied much Magical Law Enforcement, have you?"

"Right. Between fighting a war and being on the run looking for fucking horcruxes, I had plenty of time for that, didn't I?" he replied sardonically.

"You know, it won't hurt you to pick up a book and read every now and then," Hermione pointed out.

Before the exchange had time to devolve into full bickering, Harry diplomatically got Hermione back on track:

"Why fifteen years? Is that the prescription time for accessory to torture?"

"Exactly," Hermione said.

"And why do you think the Malfoys will agree to this?" Ron asked somewhat skeptically.

"Well, think of it this way, what do the Malfoys care about the most?"

"Themselves. Their money," Ron offered.

"Their bloody status," Harry added.

"Exactly. And they haven't endeared themselves with their former lot since Lucius started selling his former partners to the Auror Office. And it won't improve when you publicly acknowledge what Narcissa did. Yes, Harry, you will testify for that. And let's face it, none of us here will ever like them. But they will try to regain their status in society. With this deal, we give them the option to escape Azkaban and to regain some of their status. Of course, we will also prevent them from going to their old habits and friends and we will choose how they regain their status by telling them what causes they should support, but that's a minor detail," she finished with as smug a face as Hermione could muster.

"So, you are blackmailing the Malfoys into being good?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Yes, I suppose that's what it looks like," she replied. "Some of the causes I have in mind involve House Elves rights," she added with a somewhat mischievous grin.

"I'm sure Lucius Malfoy'd rather eat dragon dung than support House Elves rights," Ron said.

"That's why Hermione's plan is brilliant," Harry exclaimed.

Ron pondered that point. While her plan didn't satisfy his base desire to inflict pain on the Malfoys, he had to admit it made sense and served justice, at least in Hermione's view. And above all, it spared Hermione the painful ordeal of having to testify in front of the Wizengamot. And it didn't leave the Malfoys completely unscathed for what they had done. Seen that way, Harry was right. Her plan was brilliant. He looked at her with blatant pride and love: the brightest witch of her age, and his girlfriend, he thought somewhat giddily.

"You're a genius, Hermione, a fucking genius," Ron said before kissing her enthusiastically. He had to kiss her for coming with something so clever.

Harry turned his head pointedly at the display and then asked:

"Can you refrain from snogging in front of me?"

Ron's only answer was to draw Hermione's head closer with one hand while the other one flexed a single digit in an obscene gesture at Harry.

"Right, let me send an owl to Kingsley then," Harry said as he quickly exited the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Draco was soaring above Malfoy Manor. Flying on a broom was his last escape from the grim reality that was his life. And who knew how much longer he would be able to fly? Azkaban was a very real possibility looming over his future. He probably would already be there if his mother had not saved Harry Fucking Potter's life by lying to the Dark Lord.<p>

Draco hadn't been sorry when Voldemort had hit the ground lifelessly after Potter had defeated him using Draco's own beloved hawthorn wand. But the end of the war had also signified more troubles for the Malfoys. They hadn't fought in the battle, most because none of them had had a wand anymore, and as such, had been permitted to return to Malfoy Manor after it had been raided by a newly formed crop of Aurors. Except there had been nothing left after the Easter holiday and the miraculous escape of not only Potter and his friends but also Ollivander. The Dark Lord's punishment had been harsh and Malfoy Manor had ceased to be his headquarter, to the relief of his parents and his aunt's utter dismay, Draco thought.

But there was the fact they had participated in the torture of the Mudblood without intervening. Of course, Bellatrix would have been just as quick at turning her wand on any of them if they had tried and a Malfoy definitely thought of self-preservation first, not of some supposedly noble shit only a brainless Gryffindor would do. But Draco wasn't stupid. He knew this would be enough to get them in Azkaban, even with all the influence his father might still have on some members of the Wizengamot, either through the galleons-filled coffers he kept at Gringotts or through a common sympathy for blood purity ideology. Yes, Draco knew it was only a matter of days before they received an owl summoning all of them to appear for an audience in front of the Wizengamot and assume responsibility for their actions during the war.

After a long hour of hard flying, his legs started to ache and he decided to get back inside. He landed gracefully and went through the main ornate door of the elegant manor. As if of nowhere, a servant (human one, who required payment, as they had lost their House Elf a long time ago) appeared out of nowhere to rid Draco of his broom:

"Be careful with that. Anything happening to that broom will come out of your wages," Draco said haughtily.

Draco stopped in front of the mirror on the way to the drawing room and took a look at himself. While not as gaunt as it had been the last two years, his face was still thinner than it had been three years ago. His gray eyes still held a spark of intelligence (he had never been daft, after all) but it was drowned by a haunted look brought by witnessing too many sordid things to count. And beneath them, he saw the purplish bags telling of his restless nights. His hair was still a really pale blond and its currently wind-swept state revealed that his hairline had receded by over an inch over the past year, emphasising his pointed face. And then, there was his nose. It had once been nice and straight, the only physical feature inherited from his mother. A true Black nose. But it was now crooked, courtesy of a punch from Weasley. He had not seen him but there had been no mistaking the owner of the voice that had called him a two-faced bastard after splitting his lip and breaking his nose. And Draco had not had the luxury of fixing it, being left wandless at the issue of the Battle. Yet another reason to loathe Weasley.

Draco left the mirror and strode purposefully into the drawing room. He found his parents there. His father was poring over what looked like ledgers of numbers, (probably the finances of Malfoy Apothecaries), a glass of what Draco guessed to be mead in his right hand. Lucius Malfoy had not coped very well with losing his wand and his status and the glass of oak-matured mead was almost a constant feature. He still looked ragged and far removed from the man Draco had idolised while growing up. And then in contrast, there was his mother. Pretty as always, in that haughty and aristocratic way of hers. He ignored what cream or potion or charm she used, but there wasn't a single line on her face, even though she was in her mid-forties. She also seemed to be dealing much better with the entire situation of being cooped up in her own house and being wandless. And Draco had a feeling that for her, it wasn't much different from the previous year, except she wasn't anymore under the yoke of a demented sister or a megalomaniac psychopath.

Draco was about to talk when he was interrupted by a tap on the window and a tawny owl appeared. Narcissa rose and went to open the window. The owl held its leg to her so she could retrieve the letter attached. As she did so, Draco noticed his mother's face pale ever so slightly as she saw the seal on the letter.

"Ministry of magic," she answered Draco's unvoiced question.

She ripped the letter open and found two sheets. One was a handwritten note and the other one a lot more official-looking. She read both quickly, while both her son and husband held their breath. Finally, she folded the letters back and announced in a clear and calm voice:

"We are summoned to appear for an audience in front of the Wizengamot to elaborate about our activities during the past year," she quoted verbatim. "And Shacklebolt wants to have a private meeting with us and Potter and his two friends prior to that."

"Why would we need to meet with Potter and his despicable friends," Lucius sneered.

Draco didn't have to ask. He knew it had to do with the events of the previous Easter holiday. But his mother answered coolly:

"They want to make a deal."

* * *

><p><strong>AN** _I don't know if this plan is worthy of a little genius like Hermione but it seemed to fit with her past actions (especially with Rita Skeeter) while at the same time protecting her from testifying. And blackmailing the Malfoys into supporting stuff they abhor sounds like a better sentence than just a stint in Azkaban. Anyway, let me know what you think of the plan._

_Will the Malfoys go with it? We'll see next chapter._

_Thank you for reading_.


	5. Of hands and fists

**A/N **_First, a huge thank you for all the support I received about Hermione's plan. I was a bit worried about how it would be received and the support was overwhelming. Thank you so much!_

_Thank you also to everyone who has reviewed this story or put it on alert, or favorite. It really means a lot. And by the way, I do maintain my review for a review policy (Harry Potter only), so don't be shy._

_In this chapter, the Malfoys listen to the full deal Hermione has thought of and make a decision. Some bargaining, some petty insults, and some Ron and Draco action (no, not that way...)_

_I hope you enjoy._

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Of Hands and Fists<strong>

"Are you ready?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione.

"Yes, I think so," Hermione answered while Ron just nodded.

They entered the room and were welcome by Kingsley.

"Ah, here you are. Have a seat, please."

It was an ordinary room in one of the multiple levels of the Ministry of Magic. Ron noticed it had no windows and was thankful for it. He had agreed to Hermione's plan, but it didn't mean that the urge to punch Malfoy, or much worse, had left him. At least there wouldn't be any outside witness, he thought sarcastically.

And just as he thought of Malfoy, the pointed face came into view. Ron noticed that Malfoy mustn't be sleeping well as evidenced by the heavy bags under his gray eyes. And had his hair thinned? The bloke was only eighteen, a bit early for hair loss, wasn't it? But then again, all of them had seen more unspeakable things than any eighteen-year-old should have. Was that a little bit of pity Ron was feeling for Malfoy? Hermione was definitely rubbing off on him. But then Ron saw Malfoy's nose and what he suspected was his own handy work. It was undeniably more crooked than it had once been and Ron couldn't help the smug smile nor the comment that escaped him in lieu of a greeting:

"Nice nose, Malfoy."

Draco scowled at him and for a moment, it felt like they were back at Hogwarts, ready to exchange insults and petty hexes.

Kingsley cut off any answer that Draco might have offered:

"Now, we're here because you all agreed to this meeting. As I haven't found a suitable replacement for the Head of Magical Law Enforcement yet, I will officiate in this position. We're here, as you all know, to talk about the events that took place at Malfoy Manor in April of this year."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lucius started.

"Lucius," came Narcissa's clear voice in a gentle but firm tone.

"Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you listen to your wife," Kingsley replied. "As I was saying, Miss Granger and Messrs Potter and Weasley were brought to your residence on April eighth. They were brought by a group of snatchers led by Fenrir Greyback. Your late sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, then decided to torture Miss Granger by the means of the Cruciatus curse to obtain information about what she and Messrs Potter and Weasley were doing. Do you refute this version?"

Before Lucius had time to speak, Narcissa spoke again.

"No."

Lucius looked at her as if she had lost her mind. She gently patted the top of his hand to let him know she had things under control.

"All right," Kingsley continued. "Miss Granger and Messrs Potter and Weasley also state that the three of you did not try in any way to intervene during the torture of Miss Granger. They also state that both of you," he showed Narcissa and Draco, "actually duelled them when they first attempted a rescue of Miss Granger and an escape. They also state that Mr. Malfoy was wandless at the time but no less eager to duel."

"This is an outrage. I will have none of this travesty," Lucius blurted indignantly before Narcissa's hand squeezed his and he suddenly stopped.

Draco was watching the silent exchange between his parents with curiosity. He had always idolised his father growing up and had thought of his mother as overprotective and somewhat meek. How much this perception had changed in the last year.

Narcissa cleared her throat daintily and started what looked like a well-rehearsed talk:

"Our house was under the control of the Dark Lord, and in some respect, my late sister, Bellatrix. Our choices were then limited when we recognised Potter and his accomplices. Either we gave them away to the Dark Lord or we'd feel his wrath. As for intervention, Bella was a prodigiously skilled witch and she would have killed or tortured any of us just as willingly as she did her," said Narcissa with a small nod in the direction or Hermione but without deigning actually looking at her.

Ron looked at Narcissa with deep loathing and disgust. All at once, his urge to take the three Malfoys and make them suffer as much as Hermione had came to the surface. Feeling him tense next to her, Hermione didn't have to look at him to know there was murder in his eyes and on his brain. She affectionately took his hand under the table and squeezed it, reminding him imperceptibly she was here, healthy and alive, and they had the upper hand.

Oblivious to the hand holding under the table, Harry took his outrage out:

"So you'd rather be a bystander than try to do anything? People stood up to Voldemort, my parents did. Dumbledore did."

"And look where they ended," Narcissa pointed out coolly. "It was a matter of choice, a difficult one, but there was no other option when my son's life was in the balance."

"As touching as your speech is, Mrs. Malfoy, I think you realise that under wizarding law, you were accessory to the brutal torture of a fellow human being," Kingsley stated flatly. "As such, charges could be brought against you which could result in sentences of up to twenty years in Azkaban for all of you."

The Malfoys kept staring at Kingsley, doing their best to avert their eyes from Harry, Hermione, and Ron across the table.

"Miss Granger and Mssrs Potter and Weasley are ready to offer some sort of settlement, on some conditions. What happened at your residence in April will stay within these walls and recorded on a secured affidavit. If you cooperate with them and stay away from any transgression of magical law, the affidavit will self-destruct in fifteen years. If you don't, you will be charged with accessory to torture and will withstand trial."

Draco was listening enrapt. He was convinced Granger was behind something like that and have convinced the other two. He looked surreptitiously at Granger. She was surprisingly calm. Weasley next to her, looked ready to explode, his jaw squarely shut and his blue eyes radiating anger. It was a miracle no smoke was coming out of his ears. Draco's eyes followed their arms and noticed they must be holding hands under the table. So Weasley and Granger were together? Hopefully, they wouldn't reproduce. Although with the Weasleys' track record, that was very unlikely. Draco's pondering was interrupted when his mother asked:

"What are the conditions?"

Hermione looked up at Kingsley and he nodded his approval for her to go forth. She cleared her throat and spoke for the first time, her voice calm and clear:

"There are six conditions, besides the non transgression of magical law. The first one will be for you to provide the means for the Lovegood house to be rebuilt. You will also provide seed money for the Quibbler to resume publication."

No-one had forgotten that Luna had been a prisoner at the Manor before her rescue.

"You want me to pay for a... a crackpot like Lovegood to publish his rag?" Lucius exclaimed.

"This is one condition and a fair one given you sequestered his daughter for over three months," Hermione replied with her eyes fixed on him. She had the satisfaction of seeing the older Malfoy lower his gaze first.

"Another condition: Hogwarts might have been rebuilt, but its library was severely damaged and many books were lost. You will provide the means to rebuild the collection, including a large amount of legitimate books on Muggle studies. I understand that Headmistress McGonagall has a new teacher in mind and a new curriculum ready."

"Preposterous," Lucius huffed.

"That's not all," Hermione continued. "You will suggest the library be dedicated to all those who lost their lives during the Battle."

"Thirdly," Hermione continued as Lucius just rose an eyebrow superciliously at the addition of another condition, "St Mungo's hospital needs help to care for all the victims from the war. They need funds and volunteers, especially the ward caring for people permanently injured by misuse of magic."

She paused to let the words sink in before resuming:

"A fourth condition will be to provide scholarships for needy but gifted students and for those children who were orphaned during the war so they can attend Hogwarts."

The Malfoys were just looking at her incredulously.

"Fifth," she resumed, "I plan to work for the ministry after I graduate from Hogwarts next year. I'll work in any capacity that will help protect creatures that have been treated so callously by wizards, namely house-elves. It may be a few years before I need you on this, but you will eventually assist me, through S.P.E.W."

"S.P.E.W.?" Draco finally broke his silence. "Whatever that is, Granger, it sounds like 'spew'," he added mockingly.

"It stands for Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, you daft ferret. Of course you've probably no bloody idea what elfish welfare is about," Ron spat at him.

Hermione turned to Ron, beaming. He had listened to her all these years. Or maybe he had learnt that only good things could come out of his defending house-elves' rights. She turned back to face the Malfoys and received much less supportive looks from them. Lucius was actually looking at her as if she was insane, probably his opinion of her.

Before he had time to say anything, probably too flabbergasted that he was, Harry spoke:

"And the last condition is that you will continue to help the Aurors catching remaining Death Eaters by providing relevant information. There are still too many out there."

"And why should we accept these conditions?" Lucius finally asked in a condescending tone.

"You don't have to," Kingsley replied nonchalantly. "If you don't, the case of accessory to torture will be tried in front of the Wizengamot. As it is, you will still have to appear in front of the Wizengamot to answer of your activities during the war, whether you take this deal or not. After all, you were, Mr. Malfoy, in Azkaban before the ministry fell into the hands of Voldemort," he added pleasantly.

"And I still have influence in the Wizengamot," Lucius retorted snidely.

"I'm sure," Kingsley replied. "No-one said the Wizengamot was perfect. Are you willing to take the risk? After all, everyone is in a public court of opinion these days. Do you think your 'friends' will be inclined to defend you when it may mar their own names?"

"Yeah," Ron spoke in a casual tone. "Your lot doesn't strike me as being very loyal."

Lucius turned his head to look at Ron with disdain:

"As if a Weasley could fathom what influence means."

Hermione cringed, expecting Ron to hex or punch the elder Malfoy just like he had Draco. To her surprise, Ron controlled the anger she knew was boiling in him at hearing his family being insulted, and just replied evenly:

"At least, we're not a lot of bloody bollockless cowards."

Before it had time to escalate, Kingsley raised a hand and said in his booming voice:

"So, this is the settlement that's offered. Whether you take it or not is your choice."

"That's insane, of course we won't take..."

"Lucius," Narcissa interrupted him. "We need to talk about this. Could my husband and I have a private moment?"

"Cissy, there's noth..." Lucius started and stopped as his wife glared at him.

"A moment, certainly," Kingsley acquiesed. "Harry, Hermione, Ron, please come with me."

"Actually, Draco, can you please go with them too, Sweetheart?"

"Mother!" Draco exclaimed indignantly.

"This is a matter between your father and me," Narcissa replied sternly.

Draco felt mortified, being told off by his mother at his age. Still, he obeyed her request and exited the room behind Shackelbolt and the three friends.

Kingsley shuffled them in another adjoining room. He looked at the four of them and told them:

"I need to go and check on something. I'll be back in a minute. You better all be here in the same state," he said warningly before exiting the room.

Draco stood in one corner while Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed together in the opposite one. Draco observed them from the distance. They were huddled together, completely ignoring him and talking frantically in hushed tones.

Draco didn't miss that Weasley had his arm wrapped around Granger's waist, in a very possessive gesture. And she didn't seem to mind, to the contrary, she cosied up closer to him and let him kiss the top of her head. The sight made Draco want to vomit. It might have been obvious to everyone (including himself with his limited exposure) that Weasley and Granger fancied each other but why, oh why, did they have to act on it? Especially after all this time. And then the reality hit him like a bludger. He remembered Weasley's cries of anguish drowning Granger's yells of pain as she had been tortured by his Auntie dearest. Once again, Draco couldn't escape the choir of screams replaying in his head. His nausea became real and he wasn't sure anymore what he was disgusted by. Pushing down the thought, he fought it with cockiness:

"So, Weasel, you and the Mudblood are together?"

Before he had time to wipe the smirk off his face, before he realised Harry had raised his wand at him, Draco was being tackled and pushed on his back. His head made a violent contact with the floor. Ron was on top of him, straddling him, and holding him by the collar of his shirt, nearly strangling him in the process. His shaggy red hair was falling beside his face as he leaned closer to Draco but it didn't obstruct the blue eyes that were shining with rage and hatred. And for a moment, Draco was scared, as scared as he had been when the Dark Lord had been around, always threatening unspeakable harm to his family.

Weasley was towering menacingly over him as he spoke to him in that thick Devon accent of his, enunciating very clearly.

"You. Will. Never. Call. Her. That. Again."

He punctuated each word by tightening his grip around the shirt collar and shaking Draco violently. Draco nearly choked but could hear Granger:

"Ron, leave him. He's not worth it."

Ron slackened his tight hold on Draco and brought his face closer to speak in a very forceful tone:

"If you insult her again, or my family, or Harry, I won't need my wand. I'll just beat you up until your bloody mother can't recognise you."

He then let Draco drop on the floor with a loud thud and rose. As he turned his back to him, Draco realised that in his haste to nearly strangle him, Ron had left his wand on the floor next to him. Draco seized it and was about to hex Ron when he was hit by a solid punch that split his lip open.

"And I think this is mine, you fucking cowardly ferret," Ron said as he wrestled his wand back from Draco, whose lip was now bleeding profusely.

"Ron!" Hermione said agitatedly as he got closer to her.

"'m sorry, Hermione, but he deserved it," he replied, anticipating a scolding.

And to his surprise, she didn't admonish him.

"You're bleeding," she said as she took his hand.

"Nah, it's his blood. See," he replied as he wiped off the blood on his trousers. "Though my knuckles hurt," he admitted to her only.

She whisked her wand out and put a cooling charm on his hand while vanishing the blood stain on his trousers. She gave him a shy smile before telling him:

"He tried to attack you when you had your back turned to him. You just defended yourself."

She saw his ears redden slightly before they were interrupted and Harry said to the two of them:

"We need to fix him up, though, or Kingsley and his parents will wonder what happened."

Harry walked to Draco and raised his phoenix wand. Draco was wandless and put his arms in front of his face defensively.

"Calm down, Malfoy," Harry instructed him, "I'm just going to heal your lip."

Draco didn't move.

"You know, it'll be easier if you move your arms," Harry told him.

"Maybe he just wants lips to match his nose," Ron muttered under his breath.

Slowly, Draco lowered his arms and Harry healed his lips with a light swish of his wand and silent incantation. To his surprise, Draco found his lip as good as new and the pain of the punch (Ron hadn't held back) completely gone.

"You're all completely mad," he yelled at the three of them, just as Kingsley re-entered the room.

"Everything all right?" Kingsley asked, somewhat suspiciously.

All eyes turned toward Draco, who could still remember Weasley's face close to him with that formidable power in his eyes.

"Yeah," Draco answered as he readjusted the collar of his shirt.

* * *

><p>In the room next door, Lucius and Narcissa were talking agitatedly:<p>

"Have you lost your mind, Cissy? Why would you want to accept a deal with these... these people," he almost spat the word.

"Think of it, Lucius," she replied patiently. "Do you expect we stand a chance in front of the Wizengamot with charges of accessory to torture? I don't want you to go back to Azkaban. And I have no desire to go there either. Look at what it did to Bella," she told him.

"No offence, Darling, but your sister was already demented before Azkaban," he told her darkly.

"That's besides the point. I don't want Draco to go either."

"We won't, I promise you. I still have influence and I know what hands to put Galleons in. Trust me on that."

"And why should I do that?" she retorted, a sharp edge in her voice. "Look where your decisions and influence have led us. We almost lost Draco because of you."

"Cissy, you know I only want what's best for Draco," he replied, clearly hurt.

"Do you?"

"Well, of course I do."

"Then you need to pull yourself together, Lucius," she hissed at him.

"And what does that mean?" he asked forcefully.

"It means stop drinking. It means stop lamenting about what we had and don't have anymore. It means coming with a plan that will help us get our place back in society. It means playing well with Potter and his friends. It's all a mask after all, isn't it?"

Lucius was taken aback by his wife's speech. Narcissa had changed too during the last year.

"If you don't take this deal, I will. And you'll be on your own," she continued.

"You wouldn't," he said softly.

"I would," she replied firmly. "We almost lost everything because of the decisions you made. I'm not going down this path again."

"So you'd take their ridiculous deal? You'd bend to the mad whims of a Mudblood," he asked her once more.

"It's a risk I can manage," she replied. "And face it, this may be our only chance to get our status back."

"How?"

"Think of it. Our name will be associated with things that carry weight: Hogwarts, St Mungo's. It will take a few years but we'll get back. This is our chance."

He still looked unconvinced and was still reeling from her threat of leaving him.

"Are you sure, Cissy? You realise the Mudblood will ask us to support house-elves as if they were more than vermin?"

"Vermin that helped Potter and his friends escape. You may want to stop underestimating anyone who's not a pureblood wizard, Lucius."

He looked thoroughly shocked.

"And you realise we'll still have to go in front of the Wizengamot and I can't pull the Imperius card this time."

"No, but I can pull the sympathy card. Don't forget, Potter owes me his life."

He sighed deeply and took her hand in an affectionate gesture. She knew she had won as he relented:

"All right, let's take this deal."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>_all right, I might get hate mail for the way I depicted the Malfoys here but this is how I see them:_

_Narcissa is the one with a spine (or other body parts she doesn't actually possess physically but does virtually). She worries about her family and especially Draco. I don't think she has lost her prejudices but her focus is somewhere else and she's the one leading the show in the family right now._

_Lucius hasn't recovered from his fall from grace. Yet, he has obviously not fully parted with his old ways (such as his blatant bias against anyone who isn't a pureblood). However, he does care for his son and for his wife in his own way. That's what I wanted to show in this chapter. That still doesn't absolve him for all he's done in the past._

_As for Draco, as one reviewer put it earlier, he's been conditioned to behave that way from birth and his prejudices are deeply anchored. Nonetheless, it seems that underneath all this, under the layers of haughtiness and cowardice, there is a soul wanting to break free. Yes, Draco is like an onion (that'd make a great title for a new fiction.) But as shown here, he's still far from being a nice person. He just has some doubts. Also, the fact that his parents didn't involve him in the decision making will come back later._

_Please let me know what you think through reviews or PM._

_Thank you for reading!_


	6. Courtroom Drama

**A/N** _I must first say how amazed and humbled I am that my story is getting such nice feedback. I think many people enjoyed Ron punching Draco as much as I enjoyed writing it. _

_I usually thank everyone in person when receiving reviews (so long as they're signed) but want to really send another big thank you to everyone who reads this story, puts it on their favorite list or reviews on it (I still offer review for review, Harry Potter only). At the risk of sounding like a cliché, it does mean a lot. So thank you!_

_About this chapter, this is the first one I had to write from scratch (the outline of the previous chapters had been written for weeks) and that explains some of the delay. I have an outline of the full story in my mind but now have to flesh out the details. It picks up where the previous ended and we finally get to see the Malfoys hearing and how the different parties perceive it._

_Without further ado..._

_Diclaimer: nope, still not mine (and I forgot to mention it last chapter...)_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Courtroom Drama<br>**

Everyone was cramming back in the confined space of the windowless room. They took their seat back on each side of the table, Hermione facing Narcissa, Harry facing Lucius, and Ron facing Draco.

Draco was seething. His parents had made a decision. He had figured out this much when they had called back for Shacklebolt. Yet, they had not deemed necessary to include him, their only son, in the decision making process. Nor had they judged it useful to share with him what decision they had reached. It was only his fucking future in the balance after all, why might he care? Yet, wasn't that the story of his life? His parents had always made decisions for him, sometimes with disastrous results. Draco had no doubt that both of them loved him in their own way, probably the only two people in the world to do so, he thought soberly. Yet, good intentions were not enough, not anymore. He had to start making his own decisions.

While Draco's mind was racing, Kingsley sat at the end of the table and spoke:

"So, you've reached a decision."

Lucius was about to speak but Narcissa cut him off:

"We will accept the offer," she said in a clear and cold voice.

"Very well," Kingsley said. "We will all sign the attached documents. Please note that the magic on this settlement is similar to that of an Unbreakable Vow. However, upon Miss Granger's insistence, no-one will die as a result of breaking it. You will however be vastly incapacitated."

"Brilliant," Draco muttered sardonically under his breath. His parents' decision meant he would now have to do the bidding of Granger.

They all took the magical quill that Kingsley handed them and signed the document, little gold smoke emanating from each signature. Kingsley murmured an incantation and the document vanished.

"I've stored it in a safe place," he said. "Now, we have an hour before your hearing is to begin," he addressed the Malfoys. "You're free to stay here if you so desire. You'll be escorted to your audience in fifty minutes or so."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had no desire to spend any more time than was necessary with the Malfoys and rapidly exited, making their way toward the courtroom where the hearing would take place.

"I can't believe they took your offer," said Harry.

"What's so surprising about it?" asked Hermione, somewhat offended.

"Nothing, it was brilliant," Harry explained himself. "I just thought Lucius'd rather go for his mates on the Wizengamot."

"I think Narcissa thought otherwise," Hermione answered. "It seems she makes the decisions now," she added with some amusement in her voice.

"Well, see the good side," Harry told her, "Hogwarts will get new books for the library, just in time for your return," he winked.

He then turned to Ron who had been uncharacteristically quiet and noticed the seriousness in Ron's face. That long face usually had something to do with Hermione in Harry's experience. Deciding his presence wasn't needed anymore, Harry made an excuse about having to use the loo and let his two best friends alone.

"Are you going to be all right, Ron? When I am back at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked him, having also noticed his morose demeanour.

What was he to say? There still was a part of him that would have preferred to see the Malfoys get tried properly for what they did to Hermione. And now Harry had just reminded him that she was going back to Hogwarts in less than a month. They would be apart for the first time since... since he had left her and Harry during the Horcrux hunt. He would have preferred to stay with her but he couldn't go back to Hogwarts, could he? First there was the Auror training. Then there was keeping an eye on George and the shop. And then there was the idea of going back to the site of the Battle, to where Fred had died.

"Ron?" she pulled him out of his meandering thoughts.

"I s'ppose," he answered evasively.

"Good," she replied evenly. "It will only be ten months," she added as if she had simply read his thoughts. She was funny like that, could sometimes read him like one of her cherished books. And yet, it had taken them seven years to get together, he thought with a sigh.

She noticed it and decided to cheer him up a little:

"You know, I've wanted to do something even since you spoke of elfish welfare," she told him in a lower voice.

"Yeah?"

She pushed him against the wall and rose on her toes to give him a long kiss, her lips petal soft against his.

He put his arms around her and turned them around so she was against the wall now. He resumed and deepened their kiss, tasting the slightly sweet impression that was Hermione.

They stopped and she told him, slightly breathless:

"I love when you think of the welfare of house-elves."

Maybe it was worth dusting up his membership in S.P.E.W if any mention of house-elves' welfare ended in snogging. And, he noticed, his spirits had lifted dramatically with just one kiss from her. She was brilliant indeed.

"And this," she was kissing him again, her tongue brushing against his.

She didn't have time to finish as they were interrupted by a familiar dreamy voice:

"Hermione, Ron. I see you finally got rid of the Wrackspurts."

Ron turned around, still lightly out of breath and the tip of his ears reddening by the second. He saw that Hermione's cheeks were slightly pink as well. Yet, they had nothing on Neville who was standing next to Luna and looked somewhat uncomfortable at having witnessed his two friends' display of affection.

Hermione took the first step toward the pair of them, first enveloping Neville in a tight hug and then Luna.

"So nice to see both of you," she said," visibly pleased. "You came for the hearing?"

"Yes," Neville answered while he was giving a one hand accolade to Ron. "Luna and I wanted to see what'll happen to the Malfoys," Neville said. There was no mistaking the hard tone in his voice as he spoke of the Malfoys.

"Luna," Hermione said, "might I have a word with you, in private?"

"Oh, certainly," Luna acquiesced and almost skipped next to Hermione as they walked toward a private alcove.

"Luna, you remember the letter I sent you about the deal I wanted to make with the Malfoys?"

She had contacted Luna and Dean as the idea of the deal had taken shape and after Ron and Harry had agreed to it. Even though they had only heard and had escaped before the end, Luna and Dean were the other two witnesses of her torture (Greyback having died from the injuries he sustained during the battle, Ollivander refusing to talk about it, and Griphook having perished at the hand of Voldemort after their infamous break-in into Gringotts.) Both had agreed to remain quiet about it if it were Hermione's wishes. But Hermione had not forgotten that Luna had been prisoner at Malfoy Manor for a while.

Luna all of a sudden was very serious and her usual dreamy voice was uncharacteristically harsh as she spoke:

"We could hear you, Hermione. And Ron, he was crying for you. She was evil, completely evil."

"Luna, I know what you wrote to me, but is this true? The Malfoys? They really never harmed you?"

"No. They kept me in the cellar but no-one hurt me. They fed me. That small man who looked like a rat. Sometimes, Malfoy's mother," Luna answered. "She never looked happy at the idea of having us there. Not a very good hostess," Luna added, letting Hermione wonder if her friend was joking. But she realised Luna was serious.

Hermione sighed with relief as Luna repeated what she had put in a letter.

"Well, I am asking because they accepted the deal I offered them. And one of the conditions will be to help your father and you rebuild your house and and restart publication of the Quibbler."

"Thank you," Luna said and there was a genuine tone of gratefulness in her voice.

"Thank you," Hermione replied. "Without people like you and Neville and Ginny, we'd never have made it."

"Oh, that's nice," Luna replied and Hermione almost wanted to smile when she heard the casual dreamy tone back in Luna's voice.

They walked back toward Neville and Ron who had been talking about Neville's current living arrangements. The Lovegoods were staying with the Longbottoms since the latter were homeless. And the situations arising out of having Augusta Longbottom and Xenophilius Lovegood in the same house were sometimes explosive. But Neville seemed to be truly happy to have Luna in his home.

As they walked toward the courtroom, where more people were waiting, Hermione noticed how Neville's hand went to gently rest around Luna's shoulders and she couldn't help the smile that bloomed on her face at the sight.

They all sat on the benches reserved for the audience, joining the rest of the Weasleys, except for Arthur who was now sitting on the Wizengamot and for Harry who had had to go to a different place as he was to testify at the audience.

Finally, the court was called to order and the three Malfoys were called. They entered the room in a procession led by Narcissa and closed by Lucius, with Draco between his parents. The three of them sat in the chairs that had been set for them. Hermione noticed that there weren't any restraints on those as had been when Mary Cattermole had sat in their place. Of course, the place was packed with Aurors and none of the Malfoys had a wand.

As she sat on the chair, Narcissa took the audience in. She supposed her family was like the main attraction of a show attended by eager spectators. She recognised some faces in the crowd. All the Weasleys were together, easily spotted thanks to their ginger hair. Even the matriarch was there. Narcissa remembered when she had been Molly Prewett, a pretty sixth year girl with long red hair, when Narcissa had just been a shy and scrawny first year pupil at Hogwarts. Of course, they had never talked because Cygnus Black had been adamant that none of his precious daughters should get acquainted with blood-traitors like the Prewetts.

Years hadn't been kind on Molly Weasley. She definitely was plump now and her face was showing signs of stress, Narcissa thought snidely. Living in a ramshackle house, in poverty and with seven children would do that to you. And with a pang of sympathy she didn't know she could feel, Narcissa remembered that there were only six children now.

Narcissa was interrupted in her thoughts when Kingsley Shacklebolt called the court to order again. He went through the reasons why her family was there and called Lucius to testify. After their little chat, Lucius had pulled himself together. If he just could keep to what they had rehearsed, he should be fine. And she knew her husband to be a good liar, skilled at any art of deception there was.

"Mr. Malfoy," Shackelbolt asked, "can you elaborate as to how you escaped Azkaban and how you showed up at the Battle of Hogwarts afterward as part of Voldemort's army?"

A gasp had was heard in the crowd at the mention of Voldemort's name. Oddly enough, Draco wasn't shocked by the name anymore. Nor was he surprised when his father answered in a barely audible voice:

"The Dark Lord ordered my release and what he ordered had to be done or many would perish. When I came back to my house, it was to find it occupied by the Dark Lord and his forces. And he threatened harm to my wife and son if I didn't do his bidding. After that, he requested my wand and I was left without one, to this day actually. I was dragged to Hogwarts against my will."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow at this, clearly disbelieving him.

"I didn't fight. No-one in our family did," he added.

Draco kept observing his father as Lucius explained how he had had no choice, how it had been to protect his family. Draco thought his mother had given the tone of how his father should handle this part. She had known he could play the part. After all, as Draco had discovered, his father's acting skills and silver tongue (along with a few well-placed galleons) had saved him after the first war and many times afterward.

It was now his mother's turn to speak. She rose to her full height, straight as a rod, and answered the questions that were asked of her. Her story concurred with that of his father. And in her case, it was actually closer to reality, Draco supposed. She had had no choice. Her husband's mistakes had marked their entire family with disgrace in the eyes of Voldemort and there had been no humiliation that was too low after that. Draco remembered how he had been forced to torture Rowle. As much as he had despised Rowle, Draco shuddered at the memory. He forced his attention back to his mother. Her voice was clear, with just the right tremolos when she came to what could have happened to him, her only son. And then, Draco knew she was being truthful. His mother had indeed risked her life for him, probably the only person in the world who would do so.

Soon, Narcissa was done with her testimony and Draco expected to be called next. But his father whispered to him:

"They won't call you, Draco. We've arranged so that you will be spared."

Another decision made without him.

Instead, Draco heard a name he had hated for years: Harry Potter. Harry Fucking Potter himself had been called to testify. After he verified his identity, he opened his mouth and what came of it surprised everyone but a few already aware of it:

"Narcissa Malfoy saved my life. She was sent to see if I was alive after Voldemort hit me with the Killing Curse during the Battle of Hogwarts. She felt I was alive but she lied to Voldemort. She saved me, even though she didn't have to. I'd never have defeated Voldemort without her. For this reason, I am respectfully asking that the Wizengamot consider granting a pardon to Narcissa Malfoy."

Narcissa was looking at Harry intently. Yes, she had saved his life and expected he would remember it but surely the boy knew she had not lied to save him but to get to Draco and make sure her son was alive. Did he have to make it sound as if she had done it as if she had suddenly rallied the side of the blood traitors? Harry spoke again:

"I am also requesting you grant a pardon to Draco Malfoy. I've witnessed on two occasions that his actions were the results of threats to his life or his mother's, not his own will."

Draco gaped. Potter was requesting a pardon for him? He had expected Potter to request he be locked in one of Azkaban's dungeons for the rest of his life. Draco would have certainly done so had the situation been reversed. But then Draco looked more closely at his mother. Under the unlined face, he saw she had started to pale.

And then Draco understood where Potter was going. Of course the Wizengamot would listen to him. He was the fucking saviour of their world, he thought sardonically, conveniently forgetting the fact he had himself been glad of the demise of Voldemort. Potter was working on setting his family's former allies against anything having to do with the Malfoy family, depicting them as two-timing traitors. Potter was actually isolating them. Draco suspected Granger was behind this too.

From their seats, Ron and Hermione were looking at Harry. He was doing exactly what they planned for him to do.

"Harry is doing great," Ron whispered to Hermione.

"He's telling the truth. I don't think he wants either or Draco or his mother to go to Azkaban. She did save his life. But he's doing a good job making it sound like they almost joined our side during the battle. And you were right, Ron."

"i was?" he asked in barely a whisper.

"Yes, loyalty is a rare, possibly unheard of, virtue in the Malfoys' circle of friends. None of their former friends will come close to them now."

She felt Ron lean closer to her to murmur in her ear:

"Look at Narcissa. She's getting what Harry is doing. I think the ferret is getting it too. He'd probably hex Harry on the spot if he had a wand."

"Do you think so?" she whispered back.

"The bloody ferret is obvious. His mouth is open and he keeps drumming his fingers on the chair, itching for a wand. As for his mother, she'll hide it well, but look at her mouth. There's a light twitch and it's not a smile. And she has definitely become paler."

He sounded almost amused.

She looked at him, genuinely amazed by his keen observations. He would make a great Auror, not that there had been any doubt in her mind before, but little things like those reminded her how brilliant he could be.

"I think your plan is working, Hermione. You're a genius," he said and couldn't help kissing her cheek.

She blushed lightly under his gaze and told him with a shy smile:

"You're quite clever too, you know."

Narcissa saw Potter's two friends in the audience. They were having a whispered conversation, looking at her, Draco, and Lucius. There was an easy intimacy between the two of them: the way they sat; the way they had held hands in the room earlier; the way he had just kissed her cheek. Funnily enough, the clever girl had gone for the sidekick rather than the hero. It was odd how things worked sometimes.

Narcissa focused back on Potter who was now almost singing the praise of Lucius and how Lucius had helped the Aurors department by giving relevant information that had led to the capture of several notable Death Eaters. As the words escaped Potter's lips, she saw several looks of surprise among some Wizengamot members. She recognised Meads and Oxley. Both of them had never been official Death Eaters but had certainly displayed the same pro-pureblood leanings. They wouldn't be of any further help, she decided, probably too afraid of what could come out if they dared associate with the Malfoys. A pity it was, as both of them had been extremely well connected.

So, Potter and his two friends, especially the Granger girl, had come with a simple but clever plan, Narcissa concluded. Potter's testimony had not been false but had ensured that her family wouldn't be welcome by some former 'friends'. It would be difficult to come back from that but she would do it. She was Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, she thought proudly as Potter requested a pardon for Lucius too. She knew how to make new connections (money always spoke and secrets did too as she had so blatantly experienced hours ago) and above all, she knew how to use either. The Granger girl might think this was punishment, (well, it certainly was for Lucius) but it was an opportunity and she would seize it. And above all, they would all stay out of Azkaban.

After Potter was done, it didn't take long before the Wizengamot reached a verdict. It was far from unanimous and Narcissa saw both Meads and Oxley vote against a pardon but Potter's words carried a lot of weight. A pardon was granted, for all three of them.

On his end, Draco couldn't believe what he had just heard. The Wizengamot had dutifully listened to Potter and his requests. Draco was annoyed that Potter had to play a role but he realised he was free, for the first time in a long time, if not ever. His first plan was to get a wand. His second was to use the money his grandfather Abraxas had left him and move out of Malfoy Manor.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** _According to Rowling, all three Malfoys were granted a pardon for their activities during the Voldemort regime. I gather that Narcissa's action toward Harry in the Forbidden Forest and Lucius' natural ability to slither out of sticky situations played a role in it. Having Harry help them get the pardon was in line with this thought. First, Harry doesn't hold grudges (he did save Draco's life at least twice during the Battle). Second, from a political perspective, by helping them getting a pardon, the Malfoys won't be popular with the former Death Eaters. And no-one on Harry's side will be fooled either. So it is punishment, especially for people as worried about their status and influence as the Malfoys are (they might have changed by the end of the war, but not that radically.)_

_Next chapter will be up in a week or so and will be about Draco and his decision but also about Ron. Ron seems okay with this outcome, but is he really or did he just agree because that was what Hermione wanted? Answer next chapter._

_Thank you for reading and if please, you know what to do. Hint: look at the link below...  
><em>


	7. Starry Night

**A/N **_Thank you, thank you, thank you for the awesome feedback I received after the last chapter. I think I replied to all reviews personally (the signed ones) but it bears to repeat how much they make my day. And thank you to everyone who reads or alerts or puts this story on their favorite list._

_This chapter follows immediately after the events of the previous chapter. I originally had this as part of the previous chapter but it grew longer than expected so it became its own chapter. Some more Draco and then some Ron and Hermione moment with their usual passion (cough –lemon- cough)_

_Disclaimer: yeah, right..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Starry night<strong>

There was a little crowd waiting outside the courtroom, including some reporters. Obviously the verdict would make the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, along with why it had been reached. Draco mused that his name would be associated with Potter for time to come and that he didn't like it a bit. Then again, he had noticed Rita Skeeter was one of the vulture reporters. How was she going to handle this? After all, she was known for her poisonous quill and deep loathing of Harry Potter, which was most likely reciprocated.

His parents seemed less concerned than he was. They were ploughing through the crowd, as regal as the bloody peacocks that lived on the grounds of Malfoy Manor, eschewing questions thrown at them by just saying they would give their version of the story to the press in due time. For them, the great endeavour that was rebuilding the Malfoy image had already begun. As if anyone had been fooled!

They had been told they could use one of the more private fireplaces in the ministry to Floo back home but Draco had other plans in mind; namely go to Gringotts first and then Ollivander's. He wasn't certain he would be able to buy a wand there but it was worth a try. There were other wand shops but no other wandmaker with the skills of Ollivander.

Once their entered a more private corridor, Draco was about to tell his parents he had some business to tend to when he saw them: Potter, Weasley, and Granger. And then he saw Granger holding a squirming baby very gingerly. This couldn't be. They couldn't have worked that fast, even with the Weasleys' legendary ability to have children faster than rabbits. And Draco's surprise grew as he saw they were standing by Bellatrix. He blinked. The lack of sleep must have been catching up with him. His deranged aunt was dead and he doubted any of Potter's gang would have stood so good-naturedly next to her. Draco did a double take and noticed that the hair was a light brown colour, not dark as Bellatrix's had been. This wasn't Bellatrix, thankfully, as Draco had been less than saddened by the untimely demise of his aunt.

He saw his mother freeze in front of him, while the Bellatrix look-alike turned around and their eyes met. Every one stopped in mid-conversation while the two women took each other in.

"Narcissa," the Bellatrix look-alike said in greeting.

"Andromeda," Draco heard his mother reply in a curt tone.

And Draco understood at once. She was the third Black sister, his other aunt, the one who hadn't married a pureblood wizard and had been ostracised from the family. Yet, he had never met her before. It was interesting to see that while she looked like Bellatrix, there was a much gentler air in her eyes. Her face was set in a seemingly permanent expression of fatigue and grief. Draco remembered reading in the paper that she had lost her only daughter during the battle. The baby must be her grandson. Draco also remembered grimly when, just over a year ago, the Dark Lord had asked him whether he wanted to babysit the cubs resulting from the union of his cousin to a werewolf. The baby that was still squirming in Granger's arms (Merlin, it looked as if she didn't know what to do with it), this baby looked quite ordinary. He realised it was a cousin of his. Well, that was the problem with being issued from the Black family, wasn't it? There were chances you were related to half the magical world! Including people and creatures you didn't care for. Hell, he was even cousin with Weasley, thankfully twenty times or more removed.

For a moment it looked like the two women were on the verge of saying more but his mother just kept walking, not sparing a single look for the baby, when Draco perfectly knew his mother to go nearly insane whenever she was close to the little sods. Odd indeed.

* * *

><p>As the Malfoys made their way past them, Andromeda, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were left behind with little Teddy who looked quite unhappy in Hermione's arms. Hermione wouldn't say it aloud but she was terrified she might not hold the baby properly. She decided to give Teddy to Ron who proceeded to hold the infant as if he had Spattergroit.<p>

Harry had to laugh at the awkwardness of his two friends. He said conspiratorially to Andromeda:

"They are good friends to me, the best really, but, I am afraid, completely useless when it comes to babies."

Harry took Teddy back from Ron's arms, to the latter's utmost relief, and looked rather comfortable with his godson. Andromeda smiled with good humour but she was still stuck on having seen Cissy.

"How long since you last saw her?" Harry inquired intuitively.

"The last time we talked, I was eighteen and she was sixteen. That's when I told my family I was marrying Ted."

She paused for a minute.

"It's nice, what you did for her, Harry."

"She saved my life, even if it was mostly to save Draco," Harry simply stated.

"Cissy was always the calmest of the three of us. She was the youngest but she knew what she wanted."

Ron looked at her, disbelievingly.

"She could also be scheming but she was never cruel like Bella was."

It was odd to hear someone talk about a young Bellatrix.

"I'm sorry," Andromeda apologised. "I didn't want to upset you. Cissy was my sister after all."

Harry noticed the use of the past tense but didn't say anything.

"'s all right," Ron answered and was echoed by Harry and Hermione.

"I must be going. It's time to take Teddy for his nap. Will you be visiting on Saturday, Harry?"

"Of course. I'll bring Ginny and these two," he pointed at Ron and Hermione with a mischievous smile.

"Fantastic. Ron, give my best to your parents."

And on this, she took Teddy back in her arms and walked away. Ron wondered how she could handle having lost her husband and only child and bear so well. Of course, she had Teddy and yes, he had seen the grief permanently etched on her face but he thought he would have died if he were in her place.

"Well, I need to go see Ginny. We're going to look at some Quidditch supplies this afternoon. I'll see you at the Burrow tonight," Harry announced before leaving Ron and Hermione standing in the hall just outside the courtroom.

"That reminds me, I need to go to Flourish and Blotts," Hermione suddenly said.

"Now?" Ron asked her.

He had hoped they could go back to the Burrow directly and spend a well-earned moment of rest, likely involving not so restful activities and his bed.

"I've got to buy my books," she replied quietly. "For Hogwarts," she added although it was unnecessary. "Will you come along? You're not helping George today, are you?"

"No, Lee's there today," he replied noncommittally.

While he didn't mind spending the afternoon in a bookstore, as long as it was with her, buying books for Hogwarts was just another reminder she would be gone soon. Of course, she'd be back but the idea of being this far away from her made him physically sick. Hadn't they argued enough about her going back or him not going back depending on whose point of view they looked at it?

He felt his gloomy mood return but decided to do this for her. He sighed and told her:

"Let's go. I reckon you'll need someone to help you carry all the books."

She took his hand and led him toward the fireplaces where they could Floo to Diagon Alley.

* * *

><p>Draco saw his mother hurry toward the fireplace that would take them back to Malfoy Manor.<p>

"I have some business I need to attend to," he told her.

She raised an eyebrow questioningly while his father simply asked:

"What business is that, Draco?"

"Personal," Draco answered shortly. "I'll be back at the Manor in a few hours."

Without leaving them time to answer, he turned around and went back to the public fireplaces. He took a handful of green powder and said

"Gringotts!"

He was happy to see the goblins hadn't cared what side of the war he had been on. He was just on the wizards' side and he couldn't even be called a wand-carrier anymore, although he was to remediate this fact as quickly as he could.

The goblins were happy to show him his vault. He took stock of the content. Grandfather Abraxas had been generous. While it was merely a drop compared to the overall wealth of the Malfoys, it was more than enough to live very comfortably for many years, especially when coupled with the little flat his grandfather had also bequeathed to him. He took the necessary gold and quickly left the bank.

After he exited Gringotts, he made his way through Diagon Alley. Business was thriving again for the shops lining the ancient street. Even that stupid Weasley shop was bustling with students preparing to go back to Hogwarts by the look of it. There was a semblance of normality in the air, as if the events of the last two years had never happened. But they had, hadn't they? The looks he got from the few people who recognised him told him they definitely had.

He pushed the door of the small and ancient shop. There were two customers in the shop: young ones choosing their first wand, or more exactly having their wand choose them. Whatever rubbish the ministry had put out under Umbridge, it was blatant that the wand chose the wizard. And Draco thought how much he missed and itched for his hawthorn wand. He hoped he would be able to replace it. He had gone almost three months without a wand and didn't relish the experience.

Ollivander had reopened the shop as soon as Voldemort had fallen. He still looked frail but the man wasn't exactly young. And while he was still emaciated, he didn't look as skeletal as he had been the last time Draco had seen him in the cellar of Malfoy Manor.

"Mr. Malfoy," the wandmaker greeted him. "I was wondering when I would see you again. You are in need of a wand, I understand."

"Why else would I be here?" Draco asked sarcastically.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to sell you one."

Draco had expected so and started with his first option.

"I'm willing to give you gold."

"My dear boy, it's not about gold."

Draco decided to change his angle.

"Why didn't you testify? Did Granger give you a deal too?"

"Miss Granger is a very brave person. As are her friends."

He was evading the question. Draco pushed:

"Why didn't you testify against my family?"

Draco's tone had softened as he mentioned his family.

"I... I just want to put this behind me," Ollivander answered in a pleading voice.

"Then, why can't you sell me a wand? You're the best wandmaker there is. The wand you sold me years ago did extraordinary things. It defeated the Dark Lord."

"It did great things indeed, Mr. Malfoy," Ollivander agreed, "but in the hands of Mr. Potter."

Defeated, Draco just blurted out:

"I've never harmed you."

The wandmaker looked at him oddly with his eyes shining like little moons. Draco also had a hard time believing what he had just said. But it was true. The few times he had been home from Hogwarts and had to bring food to the wandmaker held in the cellar, Draco had never hurt him. He hadn't enjoyed the fact he had to bring food down like a vulgar servant but he had never hurt Ollivander or that lunatic Lovegood girl. After all, it had never been _his_ decision to keep prisoners in the cellar of Malfoy Manor.

"All right, my boy," Ollivander finally relented. "I believe you didn't have as much a choice as your parents. Let's see what we can find you."

It took a few minutes before they settled on a smooth and springy twelve inch hazel wand with dragon heart string for a core.

As Draco prepared to exit the shop, his newly purchased wand in hand, he took a last look at Ollivander. He wanted to say something, something that would make him feel better and remove the lump that had lodged into his throat but all that came out was a terse: "good bye".

He used the new wand right away by Disapparating with a loud popping noise.

* * *

><p>Ron looked at the people huddled in his orange bedroom. They had come back late in the afternoon, after Hermione had purchased enough books for a fucking library. Ginny had spent the afternoon with Harry shopping for new Quidditch supplies. While he wouldn't admit it to Ginny's smirking face, he was really proud of her for having been made Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor. And of course, he was proud of Hermione for being made Head Girl but that had always been in the cards and McGonagall would have been completely barmy to pick anyone else.<p>

All afternoon had been spent talking about going back to Hogwarts. Ron's mood, that had soured when, thanks to Hermione's plan, the three Malfoys had walked free, had worsened with each passing hour. He peered at Harry and Ginny who were sitting together, looking at the new Quidditch gloves Harry had offered to Ginny. They were talking fast, forehead against forehead, also probably whispering sick things such as how much they loved each other.

As for Hermione, she was sitting on his bed, reading one of the umpteen books she had purchased earlier, or at least pretending to. Unbeknownst to her, he had seen her look furtively at him a few times. And she hadn't turned the page in probably thirty minutes. He knew because he loved looking at her reading, slowly moistening her index finger before using it to leaf to the next page. No, she wasn't fooling him. But she was certainly driving him mad. He was pissed off at her for he wasn't sure what and at the same time, he wanted to take her in his arms and just hold her. Well, he also wanted to undress her and touch her and... Merlin, did she have to lick her lips like that?

She raised her head and for a microsecond, their eyes met. He quickly averted his, not wanting to betray the fact he had been observing her for most of the last hour, even as they had chatted aimlessly with Harry and Ginny. Well, mostly Hermione had chatted with Ginny and Harry. Ron had kept quiet, not being in a mood for silly banter.

He was sitting on the broad sill of the bay window, feeling the light August breeze against his back. He turned his head and stared at the night sky through the open window. He was still feeling angry and now frustrated. He knew he would be downright unpleasant if he had to ask Harry and Ginny to leave. He still wanted Hermione to stay with him, even if he was somehow pissed off with her, because there wasn't that much time left before she would go back to Hogwarts.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his left one feeling the smooth metal of the Deluminator. He still had it, not that he had any intention of using it again to find Hermione. He would never leave her again. Never. But it was comforting. Dumbledore had given it to him to help see the light.

He felt eyes on him and noticed that Harry had extracted himself from his tête-à-tête with Ginny long enough to look at him. Ginny had noticed too and tried to lighten the mood, probably just his:

"Did you see Neville and Luna?"

"Yes," Hermione replied enthusiastically. "It's so perfect to see them together. What do you think, Ron?"

And here she was, trying to get him to join the conversation.

"Bloody fantastic. And good luck to Neville with a bird as barmy as Luna," Ron replied sardonically.

"Ron, Luna is our friend," exclaimed Hermione.

"Yeah, but she's as odd as a five-legged Kneazle. A bloke's to be a bit mental to be with her, is all," he replied somewhat heatedly.

He frankly didn't give a rat's arse who Luna or Neville were going out with, as long as it made the pair of them happy. And he had even come to enjoy some of Luna's quirkiness over time but the truth was that he was spoiling for a row. He needed it to release everything that seemed to be trapped inside of him. As Hermione had so eloquently put it a few year back, he only had the emotional range of a teaspoon. He saw Hermione scowl at him and huff indignantly while her chest heaved. It took some willpower not to cross the room and just snog her into oblivion.

"Erm, maybe it's time for Ginny and me to leave you two alone."

Ron had forgotten for a second Harry and Ginny were still in the room.

"Yeah, you do that," he replied quietly. "I don't fancy seeing the two of you looking at each other with gaga eyes."

"Right," Harry replied laconically while Ginny just scowled at her brother.

Harry and Ginny exited the room hand in hand and Ron heard Harry cast a silencing charm at the bedroom door. What did the sod think would happen?

Hermione put the book she had been reading on his bedside table and finally asked him:

"What's wrong with you?"

"Why would you think something is wrong with me?" he retorted defensively.

"Let's see. You've been trying to bite everyone's head off since you came home."

"I..." he stammered and closed his mouth, his lips a resolute thin line.

He could see she was scrutinizing him.

"There's obviously something bothering you."

"No," he lied.

"Is it what happened today with the Malfoys?" she asked him. "Are you all right with the outcome? My plan?"

He heard the sudden hitch in her voice. What could he tell her? She had hit the nail on its head.

"I'm not sure," he replied honestly.

"But you agreed with me when I spoke about it," she told him somewhat reproachfully and on the verge of tears.

"Does it really matter to you what I think or say? Won't prevent you from doing what you bloody want in the end, will it?"

She was stunned in silence and wounded by his hurtful comment. How could he think she didn't care about what he thought? How could he think she would have gone forward with the plan if he hadn't agreed to it?

He ignored her and turned his back to her to look at the starry night sky through the open window. He knew he had agreed to her plan because he had recognised it was the best way to get some punishment for the Malfoys without having her go through the ordeal of talking about her torture in public. But as he had seen the Malfoys walk away, he had remembered all at once all the things they had done. It felt like he couldn't win either way. It wasn't her fault, really. She had tried to think of the best way to handle a bad situation. But it was so much easier to be angry with her than deal with all of it.

He suddenly faced her again and she could see some hurt and anger in his piercing blue eyes.

"You think I fancy seeing the bloke who almost killed my sister walk free? Well, I don't. And why do you have to fucking rub in my face the fact you're going back to Hogwarts? That you're leaving me... behind?"

There had been a barely audible pause before the word 'behind'. She took a deep breath and when she spoke again, she couldn't help the quiver in her voice:

"You agreed, Ron. We talked about it and you agreed to my plan."

And the tears were now flowing freely down her cheeks. He didn't want to see her cry, didn't want to be the reason for it. He'd done too much of that already. He sighed, his anger all but vanished, and finally told her in a quiet voice:

"Look, Hermione, if that's what you want, if that's what makes you happy, then I am fine with all of it."

"But you would've preferred to see the Malfoys in Azkaban?" she asked in a sniffle.

"Yeah," he admitted drily as his hand tightened around the Deluminator in his pocket and he turned his head back toward the dark sky.

"And you would prefer for me to stay here with you rather than go back to Hogwarts."

He nodded sheepishly.

She looked at him. They had all changed in the past year. All had to grow up faster than they would have liked but Ron even more than her and Harry. But one thing had remained the same: Ron would sacrifice his well-being or even his life for the ones he loved.

He had become such a man. And she loved him even more for that. But she felt it wasn't right and she had to tell him.

"You had the option to come back too," she said in a quiet voice, having regained some composure.

"You bloody know I can't go back, Hermione. I can't go back to where Fred..."

He didn't finish but there was no need.

"Ron," she spoke softly, "I need to go back. I don't want to become an Auror like you or Harry. But I will stay behind if it's really what you want."

"What? You would do that?" he asked incredulously.

"I would," she answered positively.

"Hermione, that's mental."

"Why? Do you have a prerogative on sacrificing yourself, Ron? Did it ever cross your mind that perhaps we won't always agree on everything? But I don't want you to agree with something only because that's what I want. Not if it leaves you hacked off like this."

"I... I... Fuck. I'm not hacked off, Hermione," he defended himself.

"You had me fooled for a minute," she said sarcastically.

"I'm just gonna need some time to get used to it! All right? You being away."

"I'll come and visit as often as I can," she promised him.

"And promise me you won't hold back when you get the Malfoys to help you with S.P.E.W."

"Trust me, I will have a few years to think of this!"

"Good!" was his short answer as he went to staring back at the stars.

She came closer to him and took his hand, forcing him to look at her. She tried to take him away from the internal battle she knew was still fought inside of him. They could anyway use a different avenue of conversation:

"What's so fascinating about the stars? I never saw you that interested in Astronomy."

He took her and moved her in front of him, sheltering her with his larger body as they looked together at the sky:

"See Cassiopeia?"

"I'm impressed," she cheeked, "you know one constellation."

"Oi," he said in mock offence, "I know more than one. But Dad always said that Cassiopeia belonged to the Weasleys when we were kids."

"Really? Because of the W shape?"

"Yeah. And that was wicked to have something like that when we didn't have money or smart clothes or new broomsticks."

"That was sweet of him," she remarked. "Your dad's really a nice man."

"He is," Ron agreed.

She turned around to face him and told him quietly:

"Ron, thank you."

"For what?" he asked somewhat surprised.

"For understanding why I need to complete my education, for going along with my plan just because you love me," she kissed his lips lightly, "for defending S.P.E.W.," she kissed him again, lingering a bit longer, "and for punching Malfoy to defend my honour."

His forehead was against hers and she could feel the mischievous grin that formed on his lips. He told her softly:

"As long as I can punch Malfoy when he's an arse, and you kiss me afterward, I reckon I'll be all right with your plan."

"Well, violence is never the answer."

"You slapped him too," he commented.

"Third year!"

"Uh um," he nodded mockingly.

"Well, never mind what I did," she huffed slightly and brought her body closer to his, to his delight. "Thank you, I suppose. Thank you for defending my honour, and not vomiting slugs this time."

"I'm a bloody knight," he joked.

"My knight," she whispered. "You've always been."

She put her arms around his neck and drew him closer to her as she rose on her toes. He lifted her and sat her on the window sill, holding her precariously so she wouldn't go through the open window.

He brushed her lips delicately and felt her sigh contentedly. He teased her mouth tentatively with his tongue and felt her open it welcomingly. He let his tongue gently caress hers, his hands slowly grazing her hips as he did so.

Her hands moved from around his neck and slowly snaked in the front of the button-down shirt he had been wearing. She undid buttons with dexterity, but oh so slowly. She then attacked his belt buckle, easily unfastening it, and moving to the zip and button of his trousers, the front of those was now straining over his blatant erection.

His lips moved to her jaw bone, her neck, and that soft spot just behind her ear, under her fantastic mane. He loved the small sounds that escaped her lips as she turned her head a bit more to give him greater access.

Her deft fingers reached inside the trousers she had just opened and inside the boxer shorts he was wearing underneath. She seized him firmly in her hand and he saw stars, and not just the one in the inky sky out the window.

He realised she was wearing entirely too many clothes, even if it was only a conservative dress. His hands went to her legs, slowly lifting the fabric of the dress, caressing the skin underneath, and taking a torturous amount of time to bare the length of her legs. He felt her fingers slacken around him as his hands drew closer to the spot between her leg, barely grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

His fingers reached closer to the fabric that was covering their target. He felt the dampness beneath as he rubbed the area teasingly. She almost mewled. His lips stopped their exploration of her neck to smile at that. His fingers reached under the fabric and found the little bundle of nerves hidden there. He started caressing slowly, before, spurred on by her moans, he started rubbing more energetically. It didn't take much time before he felt her tense and heard her whisper his name as she came forcefully. After the waves of pleasure had rippled over her, she opened her eyes and fixed him with intensity, her eyes pools of melting chocolate. Her fingers returned to where they had been before he took things over. She stroked his length almost tenderly before pumping him with agile little hands. She brought her lips to his ear and whispered in a voice heavy with lust:

"I want you inside of me."

He didn't have to be asked twice. He swiftly removed her knickers, moving them out of the way, and dropped his own trousers and boxer shorts. She was still sitting on the windowsill. He brought her closer to him and just sheathed himself in her welcoming warmth.

Her legs went to tie themselves around his waist. Using the windowsill for leverage she started pumping her hips, matching his strong rhythmic thrusts. She was still wearing the top of her dress, which fabric was rubbing against his bare chest skin. He looked at her: eyes closed, mouth open, lost in the moment, moaning his name in pleasure. He just murmured a soft 'Hermione' before letting go and emptying himself in her velvety grip.

He had to hold onto her before they both went through the window. He was sure she could conjure a cushioning charm but why tempt it?

He was the first to talk:

"Was that all because I punched Malfoy for you?"

She had to smile at his cheek.

"No, because you thought of house-elves."

"You know, I'm starting to see a pattern. I speak about elves and you snog me or you shag me. I think house-elves are the most under-appreciated creatures in the magical world," he started.

She pinched him lightly and told him with a smirk:

"Don't push your luck, Ron Weasley."

"It's worked so far," he told her while a lopsided grin bloomed on his face.

"You are impossible," she retorted without heat.

"I love you too."

"Ron, are you sure you're okay?"

"I am. I just need some time to adjust. And I'm gonna miss you," he admitted.

He used the Deluminator to suck the light out of his room. And with a swish of his wand, he transformed the ceiling of his room to look like the starry sky outside.

Slowly, they finished undressing in the dark and made their way to his slightly too small bed.

As she snuggled against him, Ron put the Malfoys out of his mind and tried not to think that in barely two weeks, she wouldn't spend the night next to him. But for now, he just wanted to fall asleep under the starry sky, with Hermione by his sides.

* * *

><p><strong>AN **_it took a while to write the scene in the bedroom, seeing as it was a mix of the two things I find most difficult to write: arguments and sex. I hope I did all right. But I wanted to show that Ron may not be as okay with the outcome of Hermione's plan as he thought he would be, especially as Hermione is preparing to go back to Hogwarts without him._

_I also wanted to introduce Andromeda as we'll see more of her soon. As for Draco and Ollivander, I don't think the wandmaker would be so thrilled with the Malfoys after spending so much time in their cellar but he always seems to be swayed by what incredible things wands can do. The idea was also to show that Draco's conscience is trying to tell him something. It will take a while for him to listen._

_By the way, the title of this chapter is a reference to the Van Gogh painting of the same name._

_The next chapter will be a little jump in time, but not too much, and should be up, hopefully, in a week or so._

_Thank you for reading!_


	8. An unexpected offer

**A/N **_So, you may be wondering what happened to my weekly update? You do, right? Well, first I had a terrible cold last week which pretty much kept me from doing more than sleeping and moaning about how sick I was. Yes, I'm that pleasant when I'm sick! Then, I had this chapter almost done when I had a case of "the computer ate my chapter". Seriously, all gone! That led me to some creative swearing (great potential material for future Ron-oriented chapters) before I just started rewriting everything from scratch. Here is the result._

_As always, I want to send a big thank you to all of you who read or have put this story on alert or on your list of faves. And an extra big thank you for the lovely and thoughtful reviews. They humble me and really get me motivated to write more. _

_This chapter picks up a few weeks after the last. It brings some familiar characters for the first time in this story.(In my defense, I've watched too much Downton Abbey while sick and enjoyed the delightful Maggie Smith in that series, which may explain why I had McGonagall on the brain.)_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy and please let me know if you do (or don't... I'm a big girl.)_

_Disclaimer: in my dreams..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: An unexpected offer<br>**

Minerva McGonagall took another look at the letter in front of her. To say it was unexpected would have been an understatement.

_Headmistress McGonagall,_

_Given our longstanding attachment to the school, the Malfoy family would like to offer a generous contribution to Hogwarts. We would like for this donation to be used to help restore the library and especially its collection of works on Muggle Studies. Additionally, we would like to suggest the library be dedicated to the people fallen during the Battle of Hogwarts._

_Awaiting your answer eagerly,_

_Narcissa B. Malfoy_

Minerva adjusted her square spectacles higher on the bridge of her nose before turning to the portrait that hung behind her chair.

"What say you, Albus? The Malfoys want to give gold to replenish our collection on Muggle Studies."

"The Malfoys? Muggle Studies. That is very strange indeed, Minerva, and I would have placed the likelihood of this happening even lower than that of the Chudley Cannons winning the championship."

"Well, the Cannons should choose a better seeker," she replied humorously. "But I can't believe the Malfoys would do this... unless they were forced," she added after pondering the matter further.

She saw his eyes twinkle behind the half-moons spectacles.

"Didn't you tell me that they owe their freedom to Harry's testimony in their favour?"

"Yes, which was equally odd. I know Narcissa saved his life and that Draco was caught in something he was too much of a coward to fight. But Lucius? That despicable snake..." her contempt for Lucius Malfoy was blatant.

"Minerva, you and I know that there are very few coincidences. I do find it eerily odd that both these events happen so close one to the other."

"What are you suggesting, Albus?"

"It's a hunch but you know what had to be destroyed to be rid of Voldemort?"

"The Horcruxes? What a despicable way to try to cheat death," she said with disgust.

"I believe that during their quest, Harry, along with Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, somehow ended at Malfoy Manor and escaped. That's how Harry came into possession of Draco's wand."

"Yes, Aberforth has told me that much," she replied as her brain functioned at great speed. "So you think that while at Malfoy Manor, the three of them witnessed something that could be damaging to the Malfoys and they are using this fact as leverage to make the Malfoys, well, make them do good things for a change?"

"Exactly, Minerva. It's an intuition but my intuitions are usually good."

"I'd say so, Albus. I still want to talk with Filius, Pomona, and Horace about that gift," she admitted.

She certainly held some reservations about accepting the gift. The last thing she wanted was for Lucius Malfoy to use Hogwarts' name to regain prestige. But Merlin knew Hogwarts needed the books after the events of the previous year. Those hoodlums had destroyed most of the Muggle Studies books and the library had suffered extensive damage during the battle. And as headmistress, she had made the decision to delve deeply in the school reserves to rebuild. The war, and especially the battle, had left Hogwarts a pile of rubbles, with an empty library, little gold, and fewer students. And tuition increase was completely out of the question as many families had been left destitute after the war.

"What about Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, I'm definitely of a mind to speak to him and Granger and Weasley. Why is it always these three?" she asked herself aloud. "Miss Granger is back at Hogwarts, a brilliant Head Girl," she said with pride as Dumbledore nodded in agreement from his portrait. "Although she does look lonely without her two friends. And speaking of Potter and Weasley, they're no longer under my authority. Kingsley, although he stayed mum about why Harry was so helpful in getting the Malfoys out when I asked him, does speak at length about how Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom are performing so well in Auror training. All from my house," she said smugly. "But I think I still have a hold on Potter and Weasley, saviours of the wizarding world or not, and they will come if I ask them to," she added with a little satisfied smile.

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><p>Ron was looking at the parchment in front of him with very little interest. There were parts of the Auror training he thoroughly enjoyed: Defence against the Dark Arts -he had had enough practice in this field, after all- but also Stealth and Concealment. He had also discovered that his potion-making skills weren't bad at all, now that he didn't have Snape belittling him every chance he had.<p>

The paperwork, however, was another story. Being an Auror also meant adhering to the strict rules established by the bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic, and thoroughly documenting cases so they could hold in court during prosecution. This part was about as exciting as writing a fifteen inch essay on History of Magic. And this time, he had to do it without the help of Hermione.

Hermione! Saying he missed her would have been an understatement. Harry kept complaining that Ron's mood alternated between unbearably giddy (usually after he received a letter from Hermione) to downright unpleasant (when he realised he had been away from Hermione for almost six weeks and still had two more to wait before he could see her and, as importantly, touch her.)

But for all his complaining, Ron knew Harry kept a watch on him, especially at night, when nightmares reared their ugly head. It was odd in some way to have Harry watch over him after having spent so much time watching over the bespectacled bloke. And he was thankful to Harry for it, thankful he didn't have to pretend with his best mate that everything was great, like he did with George or his mum. He figured it was Hermione's idea but thought that Harry liked it. And he wasn't embarrassed to admit (at least to himself) that he was extremely grateful for Harry at the moment.

As for Hermione, they wrote letters to each other, three times a week, giving Pig quite a lot of exercise. Ron wrote about Auror training, helping George with the shop during his spare time, and trying to cheer up his mum. She wrote back about the difficulty of N.E.W.T. lessons, how different Hogwarts felt without him and Harry, and how driven Ginny was as a Quidditch Captain. And then there were the other parts of their letters, the ones where Ron unabashedly and graphically told her about how he missed her and what he wanted to do with her upon their reunion. To his amazement, she had replied in kind, although much more eloquently, and had told him to put a charm on the letters in case they fell in the wrong hands, namely McGonagall or worse, his mother. He had to admit he truly enjoyed having a bad influence on her. The thought made him smile very coyly.

Ron felt eyes on him and raised his own, that had long ago stopped focusing on the parchment in front of him. Harry was staring at him. Before Ron had time to say anything, Harry put a hand up defensively and said:

"I don't wanna know what thought put that smile on your face. It's just disgusting. I was just gonna ask about this sodding report, but I see you seem to enjoy it as much as I do since you haven't written more than two words."

Ron had the decency to laugh, his face relaxing.

"I could do without the paperwork," he agreed. "Makes going after You-Know-Who look like a walk in the park."

Harry was about to retort when two letters dropped neatly on their desk, one for each of them. Ron picked his and saw Harry's surprise mirror his own as he recognised the Hogwarts seal and McGonagall's tidy handwriting.

Ron opened his letter and read quickly:

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_I would like to meet with Mr. Potter and you tomorrow at 5 o'clock sharp to discuss an urgent matter. I have arranged everything with your superiors at the Auror office so this won't interfere with your Auror training._

_Sincerely,_

_M. McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

"Blimey, Harry, what do you think Mc Gonagall wants to talk about?"

"I dunno, but she can't give us detention anymore."

"I know that, you twat," Ron answered assuredly although the idea had briefly crossed his mind upon seeing the missive from Mc Gonagall. "But there's a good side," he added somewhat giddily.

"Yeah?"

"We'll see Hermione and Ginny."

That thought cheered Harry up too and helped both finish writing those dreadful reports.

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><p>The bed was made immaculately, covered with a heavy emerald and gray duvet. Narcissa's eyes roamed to the shelf beautifully carved out of the most handsome cherry, finding old toys and a stuffed dragon, a Welsh Green, which had once been Draco's favourite toy and namesake. By the time the boy had been five, Lucius had declared it was superfluous for a son of his to sleep with a stuffed animal. She had convinced Lucius to change his mind and had given Draco the stuffed dragon back to Draco the little boy.<p>

She wished she could go back in time, when things were so much simpler, when the things she had argued about with Lucius were whether their only son needed a stuffed dragon. Things had changed, hadn't they?

She took one last sweeping look at her son's bedroom and closed the door with a sigh. He was gone now, had told them he needed to get away from them. The last words he had exchanged with his father had been rather hurtful. Lucius had called Draco an ungrateful brat and Draco had called Lucius a coward more concerned about his own influence than the welfare of those who were supposed to matter to him. It was odd that in argument, both had finally seen some truth.

She had begged Draco to stay, her heart breaking as she saw her son ready to leave, realising for the first time he had secured a new wand. He had kissed her cheek and told her where she could find him. She had wanted to curse the late Abraxas and his follies for giving Draco a way to abandon her. But Draco had left, and she had not seen him since. He had written to let her know he was doing fine and had even inquired about how Lucius was doing. Despite their conflict, she knew Draco to still care for his father. She had written back and they kept communicating through ink and parchment, but she had not visited him, nor had she told Lucius where their son was.

Instead, she had busied herself on procuring new wands now that they were free to do so. It hadn't been an easy endeavour as Ollivander had, understandably, refused to sell them one, even though he had let Draco buy one from him. She had had to travel to some obscure wand shop in Salisbury, where she had encountered no problem in buying what could be best described as mediocre wands. She had obtained one for Lucius too, an elm one like his old wand, but he had been less than grateful.

The rift that had started with Draco leaving (or had it started years ago, really, when Lucius had affiliated himself with the Dark Lord?), that rift kept growing. Her husband had not left the Manor since they had come back from their Wizengamot audience. His physical appearance had deteriorated further. It was now common to see him slouched in his armchair in the drawing room, looking absently at the fire roaring in the fireplace, his hair dishevelled, his eyes bloodshot, and his face unshaven. His constant companion was now a glass of oak-matured mead in the morning and Firewhiskey after lunch. They hadn't had a proper conversation beyond mundane niceties such as good morning and good evening. They hadn't shared a bedroom since Draco left, let alone a bed. Part of her still felt something for him but he had become a shadow of the man she had fallen in love with: rich, influential, prestigious. And she didn't know if she had the energy to keep fighting for him.

Instead, she had occupied herself with fulfilling their part of the deal they had made with Potter's Mudblood friend. Narcissa had no desire to find out what "vastly incapacitated" meant to the girl so she had soldiered on since it was, after all, her way back to redeeming her name and reestablishing her position in society. Since Draco had left and since Lucius showed no intention of helping beyond talking to the Aurors who came to the Manor once a week, she had taken this matter in her own hands.

She had quietly arranged with the goblins for a transfer of gold from their vault at Gringotts to that of Xenophilius Lovegood. The mad man had wasted no time in rebuilding the ramshackle abomination he called a house and resuming publication of his rag. She had expected he would go back to his older fare of far-fetched stories but had instead published an account of the Malfoys' activities during the war, which, while full of inaccuracies and unbelievable lunacies, had still contained some undeniable truths and had not helped the Malfoy name.

It would still take more to discourage Narcissa Malfoy. She had survived having her house occupied by the Dark Lord so she could do a lot more. She had written a letter to McGonagall. She had never liked the Scottish hag even during her own school days. That feeling had not abated but she had managed to make the letter credible. Of course, she also expected she would be able to reclaim some prestige for the Malfoy name with this. After all, what was the point of having money if it couldn't help you out of dire situations?

She had been surprised to receive a reply the same day, asking her to meet with McGonagall to discuss the matter further. It was no secret that Hogwarts was hurting for gold after the toll the previous year and the battle had taken. Enrollment was at an old-time low too. Narcissa was surprised that the headmistress even saw a need for discussion. Couldn't she just take the gold and use it and make sure the Malfoy name was prominently displayed in return? Well, that probably would be too simple, wouldn't it?

No matter, Narcissa would meet with McGonagall. She just didn't entertain the idea of meeting alone with the older witch on this topic. Lucius was obviously in no condition to help so she would get Draco. After all, Draco was also part of this deal, wasn't he? With a pop betraying how inferior her new wand was, Narcissa Disapparated to see her son for the first time in nearly two months.

* * *

><p>Hermione was somewhat suspicious as to why she had been called to the headmistress's office. She had exercised her best judgment when giving detention to fellow seven-year students who had tried to hex each other. Her mind was racing as she sat in one of the chairs facing the desk of Minerva McGonagall, the same desk Dumbledore had once used.<p>

The office now held some of McGonagall's touch. The astronomy instruments were gone. There were still copies of Transfiguration Today, well-worn ones, on the edge of the desk. And a bookshelf held various Quidditch mementos, including the cups on by Gryffindor over the last few years?

"Miss Granger?"

The Scottish accent drew her out of her racing thoughts.

"Professor, why am I here? Is there a problem with the detention I gave Jackson and Lockwood?"

"No, Miss Granger. No issue at all. The detention was deserved. You are an excellent Head Girl. Tell me, Miss Granger, when was the last time you left the castle? Ms Pince tells me you're always the first one there when she opens the library and the last one to leave at night."

"I have to work on my N.E.W.T.'s," Hermione defended herself.

"Certainly, but your exams are not for another eight months and there's no doubt in my mind you'll pass all of them with ease."

There was a silence between the two, while Hermione blushed lightly at the compliment she had just received.

"Have a biscuit," Mc Gonagall offered suddenly as she pushed a tartan-themed tin full of ginger biscuits shaped like newts.

"Come on, Granger, have a biscuit, you deserve one. Do you take enough time to feed yourself?"

"When Ginny drags me to the Great Hall," Hermione admitted sheepishly.

"You miss them, Miss Granger, don't you? Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted in a small voice.

"Especially Mr. Weasley... I always thought the two of you would end up together," McGonagall said affectionately.

"You did?" Hermione asked surprised.

"I may be old but I'm not blind. You should have seen Mr. Weasley's reaction when he saw you petrified. I knew then it was just a matter of time."

Hermione felt slightly uncomfortable as her relationship with Ron was the last thing she wanted to talk about with McGonagall.

"Professor, I don't want to be impolite, but did you ask me to come here so we could talk about my relationship with Ron?"

McGonagall usually stern face relaxed into a small but genuine laugh.

"No, that's not why I asked you to come here, although if I may say so, you two are perfect for each other. I am awaiting visitors. When you see them, you'll understand."

Just as she said so, a green jet of light emanated from the fireplace.

At first, As the smoke dissipated, Hermione saw a mop of unruly black hair and she almost squealed with joy as she recognised the familiar glasses and green eyes:

"Harry!"

She was about to launch and give her friend a hug when she saw red hair and blue eyes looking at her with surprise.

"Hermione?"

She forgot all about Harry and just launched at Ron to give him a bone-crushing hug. She then moved to Harry and repeated the process.

"What's the pair of you doing here?" she asked excitedly.

"Have a seat," McGonagall asked them. "I asked them to come, Miss Granger, because there's a matter I need to discuss with the three of you."

All three of them sat and looked at the headmistress with interest. She offered her tartan-themed tin again and asked them pleasantly:

"Ginger newts?"

Harry helped himself to one while Ron took three and Hermione passed.

McGonagall then opened the drawer of the large desk and produced a letter. She handed it to Hermione who sat between Ron and Harry. Their three heads came together as they read the letter from Narcissa.

"As you can imagine, I was surprised to receive this offer. I then remembered how surprised I was to see how you helped the Malfoys during their audience, Potter. And I remembered you had Malfoy's wand when you defeated Voldemort. I believe these are not just coincidences. Am I right?"

They all kept quiet. They had told McGonagall about the Horcruxes but had not deemed it necessary to share the details of their harrowing hunt for them. Actually, even if they had told the full story to Ron's family, Hermione's parents and Kingsley (because he was Minister of Magic), there were details that had stayed only between the three of them, or even two of them. Hermione still didn't know what the locket had done to Ron before he destroyed it.

"The reason I have you here is that I want to understand what really happened to the three of you this past year and how the Malfoys are part of it."

She looked at the three of them, boring into them. Hermione finally spoke:

"We told you, Professor, we had to find Horcruxes to destroy Voldemort."

"Yes, you told me that much. How did the Malfoys end up being part of that?"

"It was my fault," Harry began. Before he had time to explain how he had unwittingly triggered the taboo curse, something Harry still bore a great deal of guilt about, Ron came to his rescue.

"We got caught by snatchers. We tried to fight them, but there were too many of them. They recognised us and led us to Malfoy Manor."

Just saying the name seemed to bring back her screams in his head. He had to stop, unable to go further.

McGonagall didn't miss the haunted expression that fixed itself on the younger Weasley son's face. What horror had they witnessed there?

"What happened there?" she probed gently.

It was Hermione who took over:

"We found Luna and Ollivander there. They had been held prisoners there, at Voldemort's request. Dean Thomas and a goblin had also been captured by the same snatchers and were brought with us."

She paused and was trying to find the strength to say the rest of the story but Harry took a look at her and decided to make the last of the very edited story:

"I managed to summon help from Aberforth. I didn't know it was him but he sent Dobby. With Dobby, we were able to fight the Malfoys and escape," he concluded.

"Thank you for sharing this story. However, part of me thinks it's not all of it. I know for a fact that Bellatrix Lestrange was living there too. I heard the Carrows mention it. Something else happened there, didn't it?"

She saw the brief glance that both boys quickly cast at Granger. She pushed, albeit gently:

"Something happened to you, Miss Granger, didn't it?"

There was genuine concern in the older woman's voice at she thought of that fact aloud.

Hermione took a deep breath and took both Ron and Harry's hands in hers. She needed their support. She finally spoke in a quiet voice:

"Bellatrix used the Cruciatus curse on me repeatedly."

"Merlin!" the older witch exclaimed. "I am truly sorry to hear this, Miss Granger."

There was a silent pause while McGonagall digested what she had just heard. She saw the three teenagers in front of her and was both amazed and saddened. Amazed they had accomplished such a feat and saddened at hearing some of the price they had paid so early in their young lives. And then she remembered the Malfoys? Had they participated in that torture? She had to know:

"Did the Malfoys hurt you?"

"No," Hermione replied in a steady voice. She had to be strong. "They didn't."

"They didn't do anything to help either," Ron spat with obvious anger.

McGonagall realised this event must still be the source of many sorrows for the young wizard.

"I think I understand better now," McGonagall finally said.

"You do?" Harry asked, surprised.

"I do, Potter. I figured out there must be something tethering the Malfoys' fate to yours. They didn't try to intervene whilst you were being tortured, which could lead them to a Azkaban if it became public knowledge. But you're using this as leverage, aren't you? That's why Narcissa Malfoy wants to give us gold to buy Muggle Studies books, isn't it?"

Ron had to admire the older witch's perspicacity. He was also intrigued to know what she thought of the path they had chosen to deal with the Malfoys. He didn't wait long for an answer:

"I don't know why you chose this route rather than just letting the world know what really happened but I believe you must have valid reasons. And I truly appreciate the concern you hold for Hogwarts. The truth is we could definitely use the gold. Our library lost a lot of its collections and we still are all recovering from the war. I must say, however, that I am hesitant to accept money from the Malfoys, especially after hearing this. And especially if it means they'll use this act to regain any kind of influence. But I have to think of the school first and foremost."

"Professor," Ron interjected as an idea suddenly sprung in his head. He was just as loath as McGonagall was to see the Malfoys use this contribution to recover any kind of status but he knew it was nonetheless part of Hermione's plan. "What if they make the contribution anonymously?"

"As much as I like this idea, Weasley, it wouldn't be fair of me to request it. Although," she pondered it for a minute, "it has some merit. Maybe I'll suggest it. I have an appointment with them in, let's see," she took a look at her watch, "ten minutes."

"Does that mean we can go and spend some time with Hermione and possibly Ginny?" Harry asked.

"I don't see why not, Potter. I have scheduled your safe return to the Auror office via Portkey for seven o'clock, about an hour from now. So you have time. I'm sure you two will enjoy spending time with Miss Granger and other friends. Just be back here on time please."

"Thank you, Professor," they all replied at the same time while rushing toward the exit door, Ron picking a few extra ginger newts on the way.

She called them as Ron had a hand on the door:

"It took courage to do what you did and even more to tell me about it just now. Words can't express how grateful I am to you and how proud you make me."

All three turned at once and thanked her in a single voice before opening the door and climbing the stairs down to the Hogwarts corridors.

As they came to the Gargoyle that was guarding the entrance to the headmistress's office, they found themselves face to face with Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.

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><p><strong>AN **_So I don't know if everyone will agree with my interpretation but I think the three of them would have kept the details of what happened at Malfoy Manor to a very small group, mostly including the Weasleys, Hermione's parents, and Kingsley because he is minister of magic. I don't think they would have told McGonagall the extent of their story. However, as McGonagall is a really sharp mind, she probably could have put pieces together even if she didn't get the entire story. I also think McGonagall would face a dilemma accepting anything from the Malfoys, even if it is direly needed by the school. These are some of the ramifications that Hermione might not have fully forecast._

_As for Lucius, I feel no sympathy for him at this point and it may show. He's about to lose what matters most in his life (besides himself and his status): his wife and son. That might be his wake-up call or whatever the equivalent is in the magical world._

_Let me know what you think about my take on McGonagall and Lucius.  
><em>

_Next, we will see more of Ron and Hermione reuniting after almost two months apart (I'll let you take a guess). We will also see Draco's sides of things. Next chapter should be up in a week or so, provided my computer cooperates._

_**Thank you for reading and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated.**_


	9. A Case for Charity

**A/N **_Trying to be back on my weekly update!_

_Thank you to everyone who reads and a special thank you for the great reviews for last chapter. I gathered I'm not the only McGonagall fan out there as I got very positive feedback on her. _

_I also wanted to address the review from Abraxas since it wasn't signed for me to reply directly. I don't think that Lucius and Draco are the same and I do get this from the books. Draco was thrust at sixteen into something that was much greater than him. He shows throughout the seventh book how much he dislikes this situation. He's just too much of a coward to get out of it but he certainly doesn't enjoy the situation. And while that's true of Lucius at many points during the seventh book, Lucius __has__ enjoyed the situation in the past, drawing some influence from it. Also, Lucius is besides himself with excitement when he realizes he has Harry Potter in his house while Draco just looks like he may puke. That's the difference between father and son and one of the reasons that makes me much more inclined to think Draco may redeem himself whereas I have doubts about Lucius._

_About this chapter, it is a wrap around the previous one, starting before it and ending after it as we get to see Draco's point of view. And as promised, Ron and Hermione finally have some time alone for the first time in almost two months. Will they take the time for a game of chess?_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Reviews are greatly appreciated and I'm happy to read and review other people's work so feel free to hit me for a review for a review (Harry Potter only as I need to know what I am reviewing :)_

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

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><p><strong>Chapter 9: A Case for Charity<strong>

Draco heard the unmistakable noise of Apparition followed by a short knock on his door. It was odd? Nobody visited him. He put the fine china cup back on its saucer plate and seized the hazel wand.

He went by the door, his wand raised, and cleared his throat before asking:

"Who's there?"

"Draco, it's me."

"Mother?" he replied, surprised.

"Will you open this door or do I need to Apparate inside," she asked him somewhat impatiently.

With a flick of his wand, he undid the charm keeping the door locked and came face to face with his mother.

"Mother, what are you doing here?" he asked her as he gave her a perfunctory hug and single kiss on the cheek.

"I need to talk with you, Draco. I need your help."

He magically relocked the door behind her as she took his flat in. It wasn't as grand as Malfoy Manor but it was rather expansive for a flat and was located just off Diagon Alley. The furnishing was sparse but well-appointed and comfortable looking. She took her travelling cloak off and put it on a back of a chair.

"This is what Abraxas left you?" she asked him.

"It's convenient to Diagon Alley. I can get food delivered," he said non-committally.

She didn't look convinced and snorted delicately to indicate her disdain.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he offered her, clearly irked by her reaction and wanting to move onto other things.

"Certainly."

He summoned another cup and filled it up with steaming tea before holding it out to her.

It was somewhat odd and awkward to have tea with his mother in his flat. The silence grew.

"How are you?" she finally asked him.

"Spectacular," he replied with just enough sarcasm. "And you?"

"I'm well, thank you."

Amazing how manners could be ingrained, he thought mirthlessly. Maybe he had to make the first step to end this charade:

"Mother, why are you here?"

Had something happened?

"Is it Father?" He asked trying to sound indifferent but not succeeding.

"Your father is," she hesitated briefly, "he's indisposed at the moment, but otherwise all right. But this is partly why I came here today. It's why I need your help, Draco."

"My help for what?"

"Well, there's the deal we made to keep us out of Azkaban..."

"The deal you made," he interrupted her. "It's not like I was included in the decision making, now, is it?"

She heard the anger and resentment in his voice and seemed taken aback.

"Draco, I did what was best. I always tried to do the best by you."

"Did it ever cross your mind that I can make my own decisions. It's not like the ones you and father made were always great for me."

"You're ungrateful, Draco," she said in a calm and clear voice.

"I'm not, not to you, at least," he said in a lower voice, not having forgotten she had risked her life to save him. "I'm just fed up with being treated like a child."

"Then stop behaving like one," she retorted. "What I came to ask of you can't be asked of a child."

"What is it?"

"I need to go and see McGonagall at Hogwarts. Part of our deal was to replenish the Hogwarts library with books on Muggle studies," she said the words with blatant contempt. "I sent a letter to McGonagall and she replied she wanted to discuss the offer with us."

"Mother, you don't need me to handle McGonagall."

"No, but I would like you to accompany me to represent the Malfoy name since your father is, well, unable to do so at present."

He hadn't gone back to Hogwarts since the battle and didn't relish the idea. Gone were the days when he had found the school vastly enjoyable, especially after the last few years and the disaster that had been the battle. He then realised the situation for his mother was probably not that different.

"All right, I'll come with you but on one condition."

"Which one?" she asked him suspiciously.

"I get to make the decision about how this offer with Hogwarts goes."

Narcissa looked at her only son shrewdly. She had always given him what he wanted but this was different. She pondered his request for a moment. The amount she was offering was quite high and Draco, while clearly intelligent, had never really had to deal with politics associated with such matters. Yet, she wanted to mend fences. These past weeks had been dreadful without him around and with Lucius sinking deeper every day into what seemed to be a bottomless abyss. Well, she had lost enough in the past two years and would continue to do everything in her power not to add Draco to the list.

"Very well," she relented. "You might as well be involved given your father's current state."

Was it that bad? Draco wondered how worse his father was. They had exchanged hard words and had not split on amicable terms. But he was still his father.

His mother decided to change the topic, probably finding it too disagreeable for conversation.

"So, what are you doing here?"

He took in the small flat that he called his and a hint of smile graced his face.

"Well, I read a lot; Grandfather left an impressive collection of Potions books. I go for a ride on my broomstick every now and then. I try to avoid being assaulted when I set foot in Diagon Alley."

"Assaulted?"

"Mother, in case you didn't notice, we didn't win. So, our old foes still don't like us, despite the fact you saved Harry Potter's fucking life," he said bitterly.

"Don't use vulgarity, Draco."

"Forgive me," he said unrepentant, "but the situation isn't great at present. I've had three people trying to hex me already in the last month alone."

"Three?" she asked incredulously.

"Three," he confirmed. "Of course, I defeated them. I can duel, Mother. But it's bothersome."

"I imagine," she said quietly. "How long do you intend on staying here?"

"What do you mean?" he asked her, not understanding what she was going at.

"Seriously, Draco, how long will you stay in this... flat?"

"For the foreseeable future," he answered still puzzled.

"Draco, like it or not, you're the only heir to the Malfoy family. You'll marry one day and have children."

He snorted.

"And why would I do that?"

"It's your duty to your name," she hissed at him.

"Mother, even if there was a woman out there mad enough to want to change her name to Malfoy, I really am not in any kind of hurry."

How had they gone from discussing McGonagall to almost making plans for his wedding? His mother baffled him sometimes. He decided to change the topic, not wanting to spend any more time on it.

"What time will you see McGonagall tonight?"

"I'll come and meet you at half past five so we can Apparate to Hogsmeade."

And on this, she left him.

* * *

><p>Narcissa came back a few hours later as promised and they Disapparated together. They walked through Hogsmeade, attracting some dirty stares from some people who recognised them. They finally reached the gates of Hogwarts. It didn't take them long to get inside the castle, escorted by that daft squib. As he walked through, Draco was trying to block the images that pushed themselves up into his brain: the rubble, the strewn bodies, the jets of light right and left, while he cowered in fear in a hidden corner, bruised, bloodied, and wandless, and wondering where his parents were.<p>

He tried instead to focus on the happy memories he had: the great hall lit with floating candles, his first Quidditch match. Of course, he had failed to catch the snitch and had been berated by his father because Gryffindor had won. But there were happy memories held in these walls, even his first kiss with Pansy, or the first time he had shagged her. She had been a terrible shag but it hadn't mattered to the randy fifteen year old boy he had been. No, Draco had to admit he had enjoyed himself at the school, at least until everything had changed at the end of his fifth year when his father had landed in Azkaban.

He put these thoughts out of his mind as they drew closer to where the entrance to the Headmistress's office was, guarded by an ugly Gargoyle. Filch mumbled something about having to leave them there and that the Headmistress would be with them shortly.

As the squib made his way out, Draco could hear familiar voices coming from the staircase guarded by the Gargoyle. He then came face to face with Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked them

"Visiting McGonagall," Harry answered evenly.

"And what are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron asked.

Ron knew perfectly well why Narcissa was there as McGonagall had just let them know. But seeing Draco was a bit more surprising. His brain worked fast as he tried to figure why Draco needed to come with Mummy. Harry and he had heard through the Auror office that the older Malfoy wasn't handling his fall from grace well and hadn't left his house in many weeks. Ron couldn't help feeling some petty satisfaction at this fact. At least, in a twisted way, the older Malfoy was being punished for his past deeds. The rumour also had it that the younger Malfoy had moved out and installed himself in a small flat off Diagon Alley. It was surprising seeing him with his mother, unless he acted on behalf of his father.

"None of your business, Weasley," Draco replied in a voice full of contempt.

He walked past the Gargoyle, followed closely by his mother, up the stairs leading to McGonagall's office.

Hermione had not missed the hard look on Ron's face when he had seen the Malfoys. She knew he was still adjusting to the outcome of her plan when it came to the Malfoys and felt guilty about it. She didn't blame him for his reaction, especially after the conversation they had just had with McGonagall.

How strange the last hour had been! She had gone from worry at being called to McGonagall's office, to pure elation at seeing Harry and Ron, then sheer lust at having Ron sitting so close to her but being unable to touch him the way she wanted because of their audience, and finally to sadness as they had to rehash again what had happened at Malfoy Manor.

She suspected she would be visited by her usual nightmare tonight and thought it prudent to take a sleeping draught beforegoing to bed. But she knew it was somehow worse for Ron. Harry had kept his promise to her and was there for Ron. The nightmares hadn't been too bad, Harry had said. But she knew it would come back tonight for Ron and she wouldn't be with him. She needed to distract him, and herself, from what would otherwise be unavoidable. And then there was the fact that her treacherous body longed for Ron in a way she wouldn't be able to hold in much longer. She wondered if it was the same for him: the urge to be together, almost like a dangerous addiction. From his letters, she expected it was.

Her formidable mind worked fast to hatch a solution to her problem. She wanted to catch up with Harry, wanted to talk with him very much, but Ron was much higher on her priority list. She put a hand on Harry's arm and gently nudged him in the right direction by telling him:

"Ginny should just be finishing Quidditch practice right now. You know where to find her. Just meet us back here in thirty minutes. I want to catch up with you too."

She almost pushed him in the direction of the newly rebuilt Quidditch pitch and Harry started walking away. The second Hermione turned back to face Ron, who had been standing behind her, she felt herself engulfed in strong arms and pinned against a wall, and lips coming on hers. His kiss was urgent, as if he was trying to put many unsaid things in it. She felt his knee push, effectively opening her legs, and she welcomed his flush body against hers, feeling tht he was as desperate as she was for the contact.

She surfaced briefly, slightly breathless, to hear him murmur:

"Fuck, I've missed that."

"Er, Ron, we're in front of the Headmistress's office."

"The fuck if I care," he told her nonchalantly as he bent his head toward her again. She took his kiss and returned it with fervour before talking again:

"Ron, maybe I have some other plans..."

"How can you even have a plan? You didn't know I'd be here!" he teased her.

"Planning is what I do best," she answered mischievously.

She took his hand and dragged him into a deserted corridor and, making sure nobody was around, kissed him enthusiastically, full on the mouth. As she stopped, he looked a bit breathless and just managed:

"Bloody hell, Hermione! I love your plans."

"Then follow me," she told him as she took his hand. "I have more."

She led him through the familiar corridors and staircases until they reached a well-known door on the second floor. He hadn't been in that room since the battle, since they had needed to reopen the Chamber of Secrets.

"Hermione, you realise it's the girls' lavatory. Are we gonna brew some more Polyjuice Potion or up our supply of Basilisk fangs?"

"Nobody ever comes here," she offered as an explanation as she closed the door and put an Imperturbable Charm on it.

He thought that was probably due to the fact that Moaning Myrtle loved lurking around in one of the toilet stalls. He never had time to ask about Myrtle as Hermione grabbed the front of his jumper and pulled him down to her and her soft lips.

She kissed him fiercely and any other things he had wanted to ask her just disappeared from his brain, leaving in their stead just one obsession: Hermione and the fact he hadn't been with her in almost two months.

They swayed together until her back hit the tiled wall. She would probably get a bruise in the morning but didn't care. Their lips were still locked as her hands got ensnared in his hair, as if on a mission to separate hair from scalp. His right hand was fondling her backside roughly underneath her uniform skirt while his left one kneaded her breasts possessively through jumper and shirt.

He quickly divested her of her jumper and proceeded to open her shirt, impatient with the buttons. He finally just ripped the shirt open, making buttons fly and not caring that one hit him his forehead. His hands reached to her breasts, shoving her bra out of the way haphazardly, touching the soft flesh and rubbing her nipples between two fingers. He groaned happily at being reacquainted with one of his favourite parts of Hermione and was rewarded with a moan of her own.

She was as randy as he was and soon enough, it was her turn to help him undress. She lifted the hem of the jumper she had used to pull him down to her a few moments ago. He wore an orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt underneath with a picture of a snitch and a caption of "I'm a good catch". She had to smile and pause at that. He made to remove it and she told him:

"Keep it on!"

He cocked an eyebrow at her request but forgot about it as her hands went to his belt. He aided her in getting his trousers undone. She reached for him but he stopped her hand, knowing that almost two months away from her would render things short. He just wanted to be inside her. She seemed to understand as she quickly removed her knickers from under the skirt and helped him lower trousers and boxers.

He put one arm under her right leg and lifted it, positioning himself at her entrance. He teased her with his tip finding her more than ready for him. Without a second thought, he plunged and felt like he had come home as they moaned in unison. Their coupling was as raw as their need as he thrust with primal energy and found her responding eagerly. Before long, he felt her tighten around him while she screamed for him, dragging his name for what sounded like three syllables. He just followed her and let go in a feral growl sounding like her name.

They were breathless and still joined together. They stared at each other for a moment, still slightly dazed by what they had just done. He used his hand to push aside a lock of her wild hair away from her face before gently, almost timidly, kissing her lips and murmuring against her mouth:

"I missed you. I love you."

"I love you too," she replied before laying her head against the crook of his neck.

He felt her body shake and for a moment was afraid she was crying. It had been a few rough weeks being apart. But then he realized she was racked not with sobs but with laughter.

"What's so funny?" He asked her, slightly irked.

"Look at us. We just..."

"Shagged," he offered.

"In the lavatory. This is the effect you have on me, Ron Weasley. I probably should put myself in detention and take ten points from Gryffindor," she muttered.

"Do you want to lose more points?" he asked wiggling his eyebrows suggestively while a broad lopsided smile illuminated his face.

"Oh, shut up," she told him without heat. "We do need to get dressed before Myrtle comes to pay us a visit. And I told Harry to meet us in front of McGonagall's office in," she looked at her watch, "five minutes."

He had time to clean himself and readjust his boxers and trousers before they heard a low moan and saw Myrtle float in front of them. Ron placed his body in front of Hermione who was still readjusting her bra and shirt, effectively sheltering her from Myrtle's beady eyes.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath before greeting the ghost:

"Hi, Myrtle. How are you doing?"

"How do you think I'm doing?" she lamented. "I just saw Harry at the Quidditch pitch. He's got a girlfriend. He was kissing her. I don't want to think about it." she wailed.

"Me neither. It's my sister," Ron replied mirthlessly as he tried to push out of his brain images of Harry and Ginny kissing.

"And what are you doing here?" Myrtle asked him suspiciously as she made out Hermione's shape behind him.

"And with her?"

Hermione stepped from behind Ron and he was happy she was now fully clothed and had repaired the shirt he had ripped earlier.

"Hello Myrtle," she said in a friendly tone. "Sorry about Harry. Don't worry, you have a special place in his heart."

"Yes, the mental ghost who stalks him while he's in the bath," Ron said for Hermione's ears only.

"We were about to leave actually," Hermione continued. "We have to meet someone in about two minutes."

Ron had time to bend down to quickly pick up the jumpers they had discarded in their haste to feel and touch before she took his hand and dragged him toward the exit. Before they left, she launched a happy:

"Bye, Myrtle. It was nice seeing you."

As they ran through the corridors, she thought that maybe she wouldn't need a sleeping draught tonight, maybe she wouldn't have the usual nightmare tonight, maybe Ron wouldn't either. Instead they would fall asleep soundly, thinking of each other and a tiled wall.

* * *

><p>Draco looked around him. He had never been in the Headmistress's office, as odd as it was. He saw the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses around him, and recognised Dumbledore, seemingly asleep, in a portrait hanging behind the majestic desk. There were various books strewn on said desk, and several well-worn issues of Transfiguration Today, that looked as if they had been read a lot. He also saw several Quidditch artefacts on a shelf close to the desk, including the Quidditch cups won by Gryffindor over the last few years. It was no secret that McGonagall was a Quidditch enthusiast with a strong bias for her house.<p>

"Mrs Malfoy, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall greeted them.

"Headmistress," Narcissa replied with pursed lips, trying and failing to hide her disdain at being summoned here.

"Please have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?"

She pointed to a tea pot still steaming.

"No," Narcissa answered.

"A ginger newt?" McGonagall offered a tin full of biscuits and Draco couldn't help thinking the older woman was being so mannered just to spite his mother. After another refusal, McGonagall went on with the mundanities:

"Forgive me, but I was expecting to see your husband."

"My husband is indisposed and was unable to attend this meeting. Draco is coming in his place."

"How regrettable, although I am pleased to see you, MrMalfoy," McGonagall said in an unnaturally sweet tone that contradicted her words.

Upon the silence that met her, she decided to finally get to the point:

"I've asked you to come here for I was surprised by your offer. Forgive me, but books on Muggle Studies? I find it surprising, albeit happily surprising, that you'd like to help Hogwarts in this manner, given the fact that no Malfoy has ever set foot in a Muggle studies lesson? Might I ask what prompted this idea?"

"Muggle studies are an important part of the Hogwarts curriculum," Narcissa said with the same forced air as someone who had to eat something peculiarly foul and declare it a culinary wonder.

McGonagall wasn't fooled for a second.

"Indeed. And since Charity disappeared last year, I am afraid the poor woman is among the many faceless victims of this brutal war, well, since she disappeared, we haven't had anyone full time to care for our collection development."

Draco had a flash back to when Charity Burbage had died in front of him, offered as a treat to that vile snake. His face paled noticeably and for a minute, he felt quite nauseated.

"Are you all right, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall asked him and he was surprised to hear some genuine concern in the older witch's voice this time.

"Yes," he replied curtly. "Is there a problem with our offer?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," McGonagall replied. "My job as Headmistress is to steer this school and protect its name and reputation. I can't deny your donation would be highly useful. At the same time, your name has received a lot of press lately, and not positive one. I am afraid it leaves us in a delicate situation as I'm not sure associating your name to Hogwarts would be beneficial to the school reputation at the moment."

"So you're saying you don't want our donation?" Draco asked, stung by the rejection.

This was where they were now. They had escaped Azkaban but prison could take many shapes, Draco thought as the image of Charity Burbage's lifeless body kept invading his brain. Now, their name was as taboo as Voldemort's had once been. They were outsiders. He had to give credit to Granger, she had crafted something clever.

"No, Draco, she's saying she just doesn't want our name attached to it," Narcissa corrected him.

Narcissa had not counted on this turn of events. Something told her that McGonagall knew more than she let out about the arrangement that had dictated this entire pretence. At the same time, Narcissa had no desire to see what "vastly incapacitated" meant to the Mudblood. This was just a setback.

"I will leave you a choice and would understand if you didn't want to go further with this donation," McGonagall said.

Draco felt chills and it cost him a great effort not to vomit all over the issues of Transfiguration Today. He felt his mother's slender hand reach for his. It was soft and warm, comforting, reminding him of happier days.

"Draco?" she asked him. "Draco, are you all right?"

He swatted at her hand impatiently, moving away his only source of comfort. And then, among visions of Nagini and a dead Burbage, he made his decision.

"We'll make the contribution anonymously."

"Draco," his mother exclaimed in a tone that had changed from concern to reproach.

"Mother, you said I could make this decision," he hissed at her through clenched teeth.

He looked back at McGonagall who was studying him pensively.

"Very well, Mr Malfoy. On behalf of the school, I am grateful for this generous contribution and will keep it anonymous since this is your wish."

Draco let a joyless laugh out at that. McGonagall had a clever way of turning things around. He saw his mother rise, her thin lips set in a straight line and her eyes hard, which was a clear expression of her displeasure.

"I think we're done here," she said curtly. "We'll arrange for the gold to be transferred. Headmistress," she slightly inclined her head in direction of McGonagall.

She then set out toward the door in quick clipped steps. Seeing Draco wasn't following, she spun around:

"Draco, are you coming?"

"In a minute, Mother. Go ahead. I need a word with the headmistress.

As his mother exited, Draco turned back to McGonagall, who looked utterly bemused at the turn of events.

"Draco," she told him using his first name in a very uncharacteristic move, "I don't know what prompted your decision but I want to thank you. The school does need it."

"Just remember it," he told her shortly.

"I will and the school is in your debt. With this said, don't expect any self advancing benefit to come out of it, Mr Malfoy. But I won't forget."

Of course, McGonagall would never fall for such a simple thing as using gold to regain good publicity for the Malfoy name. What had his mother thought? He was about to leave when he took a last look at the headmistress. She was still formidable looking but there was no denying the past year had also taken a toll on her. The words escaped him before he had time to realise they were:

"Charity Burbage is dead."

McGonagall remained quiet but he saw the look of comprehension in her eyes.

"Good bye, then."

And he closed the door behind him and made his way down the staircase.

* * *

><p>Ron and Hermione made it to the ugly Gargoyle, a bit short on breath after having run most of the way. Harry and Ginny were not there yet but they had longer to walk from the Quidditch pitch. Ron hoped they hadn't been engaged in the same activities as he had with Hermione. He looked at Hermione who was bent over, still trying to recover from their sprint. He also had a hard time believing what they had just done. He knew she could bend or break the rules (usually when he or Harry were involved) but that went beyond that.<p>

And he couldn't lie. He had enjoyed every moment of it. He had needed it, and not just because the last six weeks without her had been excruciating. He had needed it to make sure she still felt the same about him, and also to chase away the images that had started invading his thoughts during their talk with McGonagall. Hermione had seemed to know. And he had no doubt that her assertiveness in getting him to Myrtle's lair had as much to do with wanting to protect him as it had with their physical need for each other.

He took her one more time in his arms, knowing their unexpected time together would end in a matter of minutes and that he wouldn't have another opportunity for another few weeks. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held onto him tightly. She rose on her toes and gave him a chaste peck. He replied with a simple thank you.

"For what?"

"For giving me the best time I've ever had in a girls' lavatory," he answered, deadpan.

"Incorrigible!"

"And for giving me a nice memory to fall asleep to," he added.

She didn't have to ask more. She knew that just like her, he had been trying to chase away the painful memories of Malfoy Manor after having brought them back during their talk with McGonagall.

He kissed her again until they were interrupted by a loud coughing noise. They finally saw Harry and Ginny appear, holding hands.

"Can't you two hold it?" Ginny asked.

It was her turn to be engulfed in Ron's arms and she returned his hug with genuine affection. For all their bickering, the two siblings were close.

"What happened to your forehead, Ron?" Ginny asked him pointing at it.

He lifted his hand to his forehead feeling a little bump and realised it was the result of Hermione's shirt button.

"Hermione," he simply replied.

"I don't wanna hear more, do I?" Ginny asked him while Harry made a grimace and a light pink blush bloomed on Hermione's cheeks.

"Oh, Harry, Myrtle's quite hacked off that you're snogging my sister. See, I'm not the only one finding it disgusting."

That earned him a slap on the arm and a scowl from Ginny who muttered it was none of his business. Harry was about to ask how he had met Myrtle, his mind fathoming where his wo best friends might have been but never had time to say anything as they saw Narcissa come down from the stairs.

Her face was set in a hard expression, clearly showing that her meeting with McGonagall had not gone as expected. She saw the four of them standing there, chatting amiably and gave them a disdainful stare but didn't say anything. She planted herself on the other side of the corridor, away from them, obviously waiting for Draco.

Draco emerged shortly after from the staircase. Harry took a look at him and was reminded of the way Draco had looked during sixth year. There was a grayish tint to his face, as if he was about to throw up. He walked straight to Hermione. Ron came to stand by her protectively, his fingers tightly wrapped around his wand and his stare cold and menacing as he looked Draco in the eye.

"You'll get your books!" Draco spat at Hermione before quickly walking away toward his mother.

They left the castle in a hurry, not saying another word.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other, slightly perplexed by Draco's behaviour before they heard McGonagall come down the stairs. The portkey was due in a few minutes. Before they had time to question what had happened, she offered an explanation:

"The Malfoys agreed to make their donation anonymously. Young Mr Malfoy did, actually."

"The ferret?" Ron asked incredulously. "That explains why his mother was so upset."

"I don't think it was out of concern for the school," McGonagall said. "We all have past demons to deal with, and I think young Mr Malfoy more than most of us. He was just trying to feel better about himself. I can't say I'm sure it worked. The poor chap looked like he was about to be sick."

She saw the four of them digesting the news and decided to change the topic.

"Your portkey is set for a few minutes from now. i'm sure you had enough time to enjoy your impromptu visit," she said knowingly as she took a look at the four of them and saw downcast eyes telling of shared moments that should remain private.

"Maybe I can interest you in another ginger newt. That is if Mr Weasley leaves you any," she said with humour.

They spent their last minutes together chatting lightly with the headmistress, enjoying her delicious ginger biscuits and trying not to think that it would be a few weeks before they could be together again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**_I had a hard time with the flow as I switched back and forth between Draco and Narcissa (somewhat tense) and Ron and Hermione (who are having abit more fun in this chapter.) I hope it didn't feel too disjointed._

_Once again, in this chapter that Draco is still dealing with his conscience and the guilt that's worming its way in. He doesn't know how to deal with it so he tries what he knows: throwing money at the problem. Of course, it won't work well._

_As for Ron and Hermione, we'll see a lot more of them next chapter. I'm not going to spend too much time on their time apart while Hermione is at school but there will be a few more chapters and we'll see some of these letters (although if you want a good steamy set of letters exchanged between these two during that time, I recommend reading faultybooster's"Game Over".)_

_Thank you for reading. The stats from the site show me that the number of hits on this story is now in the five digit range. And I do appreciate the reviews. I'm not going to beg. All right, I am begging. Just imagine me and my puppy eyes. Please, pretty please, with sugar on top…_


	10. Moving on

**A/N **_I know it may sound repetitive but I don't tire of saying it so thank you to everyone who reads or favorites this story and a special shout out to those of you who review._

_I'm thrilled that Ron and Hermione going at it in the girls' __washroom got a warm reception. This chapter contains much more tame themes and picks up a few weeks after the last chapter. It's very Ron-centric in some ways but that's fine by me._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Reviews are greatly appreciated and I'm happy to read and review other people's work so feel free to hit me for a review for a review (Harry Potter only as I need to know what I am reviewing :)_

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: Moving on<strong>

_My love,_

_Me again. I think Pig is starting to resent me. Bloody owl never got that much use before. Although he still goes barmy when he sees me get a quill and some parchment out._

_How are you? I know you must be up to your pretty eyeballs in books since your NEWT's are, let's see, six months away. I hope you'll spare some time to write to me and also to eat and sleep. You really got to do both, as mad as that may sound to you. Besides, you won't get much time to rest once you come over here for Christmas. You sure your parents are still alright with you staying at the Burrow for Christmas?_

_As for me, well, I'm bloody fantastic, except for my wrist but I'll get to that later. Auror training has actually been enjoyable this week. I really like it. Well not as much as some other activities, (mostly involving you, naked) but then again, nothing really compares to you. I also managed to make a more than passable draught of living death. I'm actually doing fine with potions. I know, potions. Who would've thought? Still the sodding paperwork is more boring than a three hour lesson with Binns._

_On the home front, since I know you'll ask, not much new since I wrote on Monday. Mum was happy at dinner yesterday. Came out that it was because she heard Percy has a girlfriend. I know, Percy. Hard to believe, isn't it? How can a girl be with a prat like him? I know, not as much a prat as he was three years ago but have you listened to him going on about cauldrons? Hell, he makes Binns sound exciting. (Merlin, is that the second time I mention Binns in this letter?) Anyway, Percy's bringing her on Sunday so we have a chance to meet her before Christmas._

_I hope that will be enough of a draw to get George to come too. George wouldn't pass on something like that! With so much potential to make fun of Percy. At least old George wouldn't. Speaking of George, I'm having dinner with him tomorrow. It's my turn. I've told you we make sure (well, Angelina, Lee, and me and even Percy sometimes) there's someone to have dinner with him every night, haven't I? George says he hates it but I've seen him smile a few times this past month and even take the piss off once or twice._

_As for Harry, I know you write to the git but I don't know if he told you he got stunned by both me and Neville in practice the other day. That was fun. (Oh don't worry, Harry is fine. And I let him beat me at chess after that.) _

Just as he finished writing this, Ron heard a knock before his room door was cracked ajar and Harry's face appeared in the door frame. Ron lifted the quill off the parchment and signalled to Harry to come in. Harry walked in the room and came standing by the desk where Ron was writing.

"Just a minute," Ron said as he thought of what next to write to Hermione.

"Writing, are you? Hermione?" Harry asked him as he took a quick glance at the letter.

"Who else?" Ron replied absently as he put the quill back on the parchment. "Harry, you really don't want to read what I'm about to write. So sod off."

"I wasn't reading," Harry protested feebly. "I just happened to get a glance."

Still, he moved across to the other side of Ron's bedroom, not wanting to read whatever Ron was about to say next, barely guessing it wouldn't be anything he wanted to read without Obliviating himself later on.

Ron resumed his letter to Hermione.

_Other than that, well, I miss you, a lot actually. I can't help thinking about you all the time. That's actually distracting sometimes, especially when I think of that little thing we did in the girls' lav or our meeting in Hogsmeade. You do have a wicked mouth, by the way. I always thought so, and you can do even more wicked things with it. Anyway, I keep thinking of this and how much I want more. Trust me, I've wanked so many times these past few weeks just thinking of it that my wrist actually hurts._

_Just know I have plans for you when you come over for the hols. And they won't involve any clothes. Too bad my wrist hurts right now because just thinking of you without clothes definitely makes me hard._

Ron paused for a minute, his thoughts drifting to a half undressed Hermione backed against a tiled wall while he thrust into her, remembering how soft her skin was under his fingers.

"Are you done writing whatever vile thing you're writing to Hermione? I really don't want to see that look on your face," Ron heard Harry ask him from across the room.

He gave Harry the finger and went back to writing:

_Well, I think I'll wrap it here for today._

_I love you_

_I miss you_

_Ron_

He folded the parchment and wrote the address quickly on the envelope before tying it to Pig's leg. The owl flew a few times around him excitedly and took off on his long journey from Devon to Hogswart.

Ron sighed as he closed the window of his bedroom. He couldn't help reminiscing about that summer night a few months ago when he had shagged Hermione just there. That didn't help with the stiffy he had from thinking of her naked while writing to her.

"You do miss her, don't you?" Harry asked seriously.

"What do you think?" Ron replied sarcastically.

"Well, I have something to show you that may take your mind on something else."

"Just tell me it's not another sodding report to write."

"No, you'll see."

Ron followed Harry, wondering what thing Harry wanted to show him. He was surprised to find himself in front of twelve, Grimmauld Place, when he opened his eyes following a side Apparition with Harry. Ron still felt uneasy about the place, not having set foot in it since the morning they had left for the Ministry during their Horcrux hunt.

As if reading his mind, Harry told him:

"It's safe. Travers was the last Death Eater from Voldemort's inner circle and he's now sitting in Azkaban, actually thanks to information provided by Lucius Malfoy. I really can't believe Lucius Malfoy actually kept this part of the bargain," Harry added incredulously.

"Well, see it that way. It was their arse in Azkaban or his. That's not a difficult choice for Malfoy, now is it?"

"I suppose you're right," Harry answered. "And I worked with Kingsley and your Dad on new wards. It's only open to people I let in. Me, you, Hermione, your family, Neville," Harry quickly changed the subject.

"Blimey, Harry, when did you have time to do that?"

"Well, I don't work at George's shop."

It still stung Ron to hear it was now only George's shop.

"And I don't spend hours thinking of Hermione or doing other things while thinking of Hermione," Harry added mischievously.

"You'd better not, or I'll hex your bollocks off."

"But Ginny is all right, right?" Harry cheeked.

"Shut it before I have to punch you, Potter," Ron answered with a smile.

Before he opened the door, Harry warned Ron:

"You might have a surprise looking inside."

Harry opened the door and Ron was surprised indeed. The first thing he noticed was that the portrait of Mrs. Black was missing.

"What did you do with the barmy old bat?"

"Simple. I used Muggle ways. I cut the wall off, with the portrait attached to it. I asked Kreacher if he wanted it and he said yes. I don't know what he did with it and I don't wanna know."

"I reckon Dad is right to say Muggles have brilliant ways of doing things," Ron said.

"I used the same to get rid of the Black family tree, although I didn't let Kreacher have that one. Maybe I should have offered it to Narcissa Malfoy," Harry added half-jokingly. "Though I guess saving my life probably would have got her burnt off like Sirius or Andromeda on that tapestry."

"You know she didn't do it for you," Ron pointed out.

"Yeah, I do," Harry sighed, having had this conversation with Ron several times and not willing to have it again. "What about I show you the rest of the house, yeah?"

They made their way through the rest of the house and Ron saw that a lot of the remnants of the Black family's obsession with the dark arts and blood purity were gone.

"How did you manage to get rid of all the shite that was there?" he asked Harry.

"I asked Kreacher to help me."

"Yeah, must be great having your personal house elf," Ron mumbled with a hint of resentment.

"I pay him," Harry defended himself. "Hermione would have my skin otherwise."

"How did he take the idea of being paid?"

"Not well until I said it was my wish. Hermione is right..."

"She always is," Ron sighed.

"The way elves are conditioned to do their master's bidding is completely sick."

"It is," Ron agreed.

"But he's helped me clean the house. I told him he could have any Black family heirloom except for stuff from Sirius's room. Not that it matters because they never liked each other."

"That's great what you did with the house, Harry," Ron said genuinely, "but why did you bring me here?"

"Well, I want to move here. I appreciate the hospitality at the Burrow. Trust me, your home feels ten times more like home than Privet Drive ever did. But I think it's time for me to move on.

"Have you told Mum? She's gonna be hacked off to see you go," Ron said sharply, not wanting to cause his mother any unnecessary suffering.

"I know. But there's more. I wondered if you wanted to come live with me?"

"Harry, mate, how can I say this? I know you have a thing for gingers but you're really not my type," Ron joked.

"Shut it, git. There is a nice bedroom on this floor, two actually. And there's a separate bathroom. I thought..."

"What?" Ron asked impatiently.

"I'll ask Hermione to come here after she finishes from Hogwarts. I reckon she'll work at the Ministry and will need a place."

Ron sighed, both touched that Harry valued their friendship that much and worried about what the news of both of them leaving the Burrow would do to his mother.

"Harry, Mum isn't gonna be happy about this. And I don't wanna, you know, do anything to upset her."

"I know," Harry replied. "That's why I talked with your Dad. He said it wouldn't be that different from two years ago and as long as we come to visit them several times a week, she'd be all right."

"You talked with Dad about moving out?" Ron asked, surprised. "You've really planned this, haven't you?"

"Well, yes," Harry finally admitted shyly. "I never had times for that kind of planning, you know, before."

Ron understood what he meant, when his chances of living had been slim.

"But now, I do. And there are things I want to do. I want to marry Ginny..."

Ron make a gagging sound.

"And have children with her. Haven't you thought of all that stuff with Hermione?"

That sobered Ron. Of course he had.

"You think Hermione will want to ... you know, he gestured evasively. "I'm just me when she's bloody brilliant."

"Yes, you're being a bit daft right now," Harry said with a certain edge to his voice.

"Oi," Ron protested.

"Ron, I thought you had put this shite behind you. You're perfect for Hermione. You two are perfect for each other. And trust me, having seen the two of you snog, and not wanting to think of what else more you do, I'd rather I wasn't thinking that but that's the truth."

"Cheers, Harry."

"Anytime. Now, what do you say?"

Ron thought for a second and he knew he had already made his decision a few moments ago.

"Yeah. But I'll have to pay you."

"Nonsense. I own the house."

"I must, Harry."

"All right, what about you help me pay Kreacher's wages?"

"All right," Ron agreed.

He was now earning his own money between his Auror training and helping George at the shop.

"Deal?" Harry asked, extending his hand.

"Deal," Ron replied while shaking Harry's hand.

* * *

><p>Narcissa finished reading the article that had grabbed her attention when she had seen the front page of the Daily Prophet. Travers had been captured by the Aurors and was now sitting in a cell in Azkaban. Travers had supposedly been one of their friends, as much as a friend as they could have, as self-preservation would always trump anything else for Malfoys. Yet, he hadn't had any problems ridiculing them at each Death Eater meeting the Dark Lord had held in her home. Neither had he seen any issue with making unsollicited advances to her during Lucius's stint in Azkaban.<p>

The man had been vile, obsessed with power and supremacy of the pure-bloods. in that, he was not that different from Lucius. But as low as Lucius seemed to have sunk, she would still not exchange him for Travers for all the gold in Gringotts. Lucius had loved her, in his own peculiar way. Maybe he still did, undermeath all the self-pity he was currently wallowing in.

She lifted her head from the newspaper and peered at her husband who was sitting across the room, reading a parchment filled with tiny numbers. Travers had been the last of the inner Death Eaters still on the lam and after providing the information leading to his capture, Lucius was now done with the distateful task of dealing with Shacklebolt's elite team of dark wizards catchers.

She had expected Lucius's disposition to improve once this was over and it had slightly. His physical appearance was definitely less unkempt. His face was clean-shaven that morning and his hair was combed. His face was still puffy and his eyes red from his still heavy consumption of Firewhiskey. This had not gone but at least, Lucius now reserved the Firewhiskey for dinner and after. One other thing that was still there was the look of sheer misery but Narcissa couldn't help feeling it was his own doing. He had alienated Draco and subsequently her. He was the one who had to make the first step besides holding mindless conversations about the weather.

As if reading her mind, he finally spoke to her:

"I noticed that a hefty amount of gold has been transferred out of my vault."

"Our vault," she corrected him. "Don't forget, Lucius, that without the very generous dowry Father gave to you when we married, the Malfoys would have lost the Manor and their fortune."

He looked stung by her reminding him of the unfortunate truth but continued his questioning:

"What was it for?"

"A donation to Hogwarts," she replied, willingly omitting the part about its being used for Muggle studies book purchase.

"And how is it that our name appeared nowhere in the press, prominently associated with this donation? If we're going to pay that much gold, the least the Scottish hag can do for us is to have our name conspicuously displayed," he replied in his drawling voice.

"We made the donation anonymously," she simply stated.

"We?"

"Draco and I. I'm sorry, Darling, but you were in no state to assist us with this part of the deal and showed no interest in doing so."

He registered her words slowly. She had called him Darling, something she hadn't done in months. And she was also telling him that she had let Draco act in his place, his ungrateful brat of a son was representing the Malfoy name for him.

"You let Draco make that decision?" he asked her still digesting the news.

"Well, it's not like his father was in any state to make a decision, now, was he?"

"Cissy, that was a lot of gold," he told her in the same tone he would have used if she had spent too many galleons on a beautiful dress. "I'm not sure the brat understands that the anount of gold we own is finite."

"Give your son the credit he deserves, Lucius," she almost spat his name.

"Why? He's made it clear he wants nothing to do with me," he replied and she could hear the hurt in his voice.

"Draco is helping me fulfilling part of our deal. You remember the deal that kept us out of Azkaban, don't you?"

"You made the deal, Cissy. You said it would help us get back into society but it hasn't worked so far, has it?"

"The Hogwarts angle didn't but we still have the St. Mungo's one. I have arranged a meeting with a powerful member of the goeverning board of the hospital. Draco and I will see him tomorrow."

She didn't mention that the board member in question was Acario Meads, the same man who had voted against their pardon during the audience.

"You're going with Draco?"

"You can join us, Lucius," she invited him, somewhat hopefully.

"No," he refused categorically. "I've done my share. I've helped the Aurors and I won't have anything else to do with the deal that Mudlblood crafted. And I don't want you to see that foolish son of ours until he apologises for what he's done."

"Very well," she replied with steel in her voice. "It doesn't matter what you want at this point. I will see Draco and have the meeting because I will make sure this deal goes through. You may not remember it in your current Firewhiskey-impaired state, but the price of not seeing that deal through is to become vastly and permanently incapacitated. But that's the least of my worries, Lucius. As much as it may pain me to lose you, it doesn't compare to losing Draco. Never ask me to choose between you and Draco; you won't ever win."

And on this, she rose and left the room regally.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Weasley?"<p>

"Yes?" both Ron and George replied at the same time to Verity's question.

"We're running out of Pygmy Puffs. Do you have any more on order?"

Before George had time to say anything, Ron told Verity:

"Yeah. I oredered some on Thursday. We should get them on Monday. If they want to buy it now, we can deliver."

"All right, I'll let the customer know," she said as she walked away from the counter where George and Ron had been chatting.

George looked at his little brother half amused, half surprised.

"We deliver?"

"Well," Ron explained as the tip of his ears reddened, "you did use owls to run your business last year so I figured it would be a service we could provide for out of stock items. Besides, the delivery fee more than covers the cost."

George had to smile, which warmed Ron's heart considerably.

"Who would have thought that there was a brain in that head of yours. That's bloody clever, Ron. Maybe the lovely miss Granger is rubbing off on you."

"Shut it, George."

"Taking the piss, Ron. How's she, that bird of yours?"

"Up to her eyeballs in books and parchment and probably trying to free all house elves and finding a cure for Spattergroit at the same time."

He didn't mention she had time for interesting interludes with him in the girls' lavatory or the back room of the Three Broomsticks when he came for a visit but his ears got red all of a sudden.

George didn't notice. He was busy tacking behind his remaining ear some of the hair he had let grow as a subtle way to not be a spitting image of Fred and bear looking at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were following every sway of Angelina Johnson's shapely behind as she helped Verity with stocking some shelves. Angelina seemed to have a sixth sense about it though and yelled at George.

"Oi, George. Stop staring."

Yet, she puposely swayed a bit harder.

Ron let out a small chuckle. George was flirting. That was a very good development, very good indeed.

"Angelina, uh?"

"What?" George replied absentmindedly. "It's your fault, really. Making sure I get babysat every evening like a fucking baby. She comes round my flat three times a week for dinner. She can't hold a candle to Mum when it comes to food but she's happier company right now."

Ron was surprised, albeit happily. He also knew that company was the best solace there was for the grief that had been eating at all of them for the last six months. Hadn't he escaped his sorrow after the battle by spending entire afternoons lying naked next to Hermione?

"Are you... seeing her?" Ron asked carefully.

"Well, yeah, I'm seeing her. She's shaking her arse right in front of me, a very fine arse," he added more for himself as he bent his head to the side for a better view.

"You git. Are you seeing her, as in seeing her, you know?" Ron tried again.

"No, I don't, Ron. Care to explain?"

"Forget it," Ron said dejectedly.

"Oh Ron, I'm just taking the piss. We're not serious. Just a little bit of snogging."

"That's great. Does Mum know?"

"I don't know what Mum knows. Besides, didn't you tell me that perfect Percy is bringing out his girlfriend tomorrow. That should keep her busy for a while."

"Yeah, I know but hearing you're seeing Angelina would cheer her up even more."

George mumbled. He knew what Ron was talking about. Molly Weasley had been strong, busying herself with mundane things to try to forget the pain of losing one of her children. It worked most times. But there were also the time Ron had found her crying uncontrollably at the kitchen table. She had found a fake wand that had turned into a rubber chicken. And while she had seemed elated by the news of Percy and his new girlfriend, their mother could use any bit of good news they could bring her, even if it meant being scrutinised afterward about where the relationship was going.

"Gimme some time, all right?" George finally pleaded.

"Fine," Ron replied and knew he had to drop the subject.

He looked at the window. Diagon Alley was bustling on this Saturday afternoon. He saw a familiar form, hair, and broken nose.

"What's the bloody ferret doing here?" he asked to himself aloud.

George looked at the window and saw Draco Malfoy. He snorted:

"I see him a few times a week. I reckon he lives nearby now. Seems the peacocks didn't do it for him."

"Yeah, that's what I heard at the Auror Office. Just wonder what he's up to."

"I don't think the git knows how to cook. A ferret has to eat too. I think he gets his food from the Leaky Cauldron. Is that someone following him?" George asked showing a figure about fifteen feet behind Malfoy.

"Fuck," Ron exclaimed as he ran outside with his wand raised at the ready.

* * *

><p>Draco was walking purposefully through Diagon Alley. He was meeting with his mother in an hour at St. Mungo's and wanted to eat first. Somehow, even if she gave him dirty looks the entire time, Hannah Abbott, the new keeper at the Leaky Cauldron, had not refused to serve him, which was better than most shops around.<p>

He walked past that awful Weasley joke shop. It was full of customers, probably shopping for their Christmas list. And then he saw Ron Weasley sprint out of the shop, his wand raised and pointed in his direction. There was a brief moment of surprise. He despised Weasley but never expected him to attack unprovoked. He instinctively yanked his wand out and as he shouted "Stupefy", he briefly heard Weasley roar "Protego" with his wand still pointed at him. In an instant, he realised that Weasley was not attacking but trying to shield him before he was hit by Draco's stunning spell and fell to the ground.

Draco instinctively turned around and saw what, or who, Weasley had tried to protect him from: a hooded figure was standing fifteen feet behind him, wand aimed at Draco and Weasley, who was now trying to get back on his feet and re-seize the wand that had escaped him in his fall. But it was too late. Draco saw a jet of green light and felt the blast that blew him and Weasley against the glass window of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. He felt glass rain on him and his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. He saw Weasley lying unconscious next to him, covered in glass shards, rubble, and what looked like blood before all went dark.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** _oh, well, did I end that in a cliffhanger? I guess so. Let me know what you think!_


	11. St Mungo's

**A/N**_ Since I left the last chapter end on a cliff-hanger, I better update today. Do not fret: there's no cliff-hanger at the end of this one. But we do get to see Hermione's letter to Ron. See for yourself._

_Thank you to everyone who reads, alerts, or adds this story to their favorite. And as always, I am sending a super thank you to all the lovely reviewers. You have no idea how much reviews make my day._

_Without further ado:_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I must not tell lies… I don't own Harry Potter._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11: St. Mungo's<strong>

Hermione re-read Ron's letter for the fifth time in two days. She lightly touched the inky fingerprint he had inadvertently left between two paragraphs, longing for the connection with his fingers. How she loved his fingers gently caressing her skin or driving her into oblivious madness. She still had two weeks before she would see him again for the Christmas holidays. He had written of what he intended to do with her during that time and she was fully on board with this plan and could even add a few items of her own to the agenda.

She sighed deeply, out of longing and frustration, and smoothed the parchment that sat on the desk. She dipped her quill in the ink well and started writing:

_Ron,_

_I was elated to receive your letter. I am so glad to hear that things are looking more positive on the home front and that your mother was cheered up by the news of Percy having a new girlfriend. And by the way, you should cut Percy some slack. Yes, he may drone on a bit when it comes to the subject of cauldrons, but he's also an accomplished young man, ambitious, and intelligent. And whilst he may not seem like an interesting prospect to you, I am sure they are numerous witches within the ministry who think otherwise. And before you even go in this direction, be assured that I can't even see Percy in a room if you're in it too._

_And please, be kind to Harry. It's funny actually, as Harry didn't mention being stunned by both you and Neville but he did say he managed to silently disarm the pair of you. Maybe I should write to Neville to get the full story._

_As for me, I am well. I'm afraid I'm falling a little bit behind on my NEWT's as I've only read 34 of the 80 books I've assigned to myself. I'm hoping I can make up for it soon. And don't worry, I do take time to eat and sleep. At least, Ginny makes sure of that. She's actually saying hello right now but doesn't want to come anywhere close to the letter I'm writing to you. Speaking of Ginny, she had a fantastic match against Hufflepuff last week as I've told you, and it seems that Gwenog Jones was in the audience and invited her for tryouts for the Harpies. Ginny is, as you can think, ecstatic as this prospect._

_And that brings me to you and your naughty letter. I am sorry to be responsible for the current state of your wrist but sympathise with the feeling behind. My fingers do get tired sometimes too. Thankfully, I am a witch and can use my wand when need be. I have found this perfect vibrating charm. Though it still doesn't compare to your amazing fingers and doesn't leave me nearly as, let's see, fulfilled._

_I do long to see you again to get reacquainted with every of your freckles, your hair and the way it feels: silky under my fingers but tickling on my stomach as your head rests between my thighs. Oh the things you do to me! I want to feel your tongue against mine, tasting of chocolate and you. I want to feel it slither down my torso, tease my breasts, and dip lower so you can taste me down there. You know, it's funny, I've always wondered why you enjoyed eating so much but now that I've fully benefited from it, I'm delighted by your enthusiasm and appetite._

_And now, let me tell you about the things __I__ want to do to __you__. I want to let my lips kiss every inch of your skin, tease you, lick you, everywhere, including that very erect part of you. I think you enjoyed that during our visit in Hogsmeade last month, although I hope nobody saw how long it took me to retrieve my glove from under the table. I have other plans for you as well, plans that involve my hands, my mouth, and everything to drive you completely mad. Isn't that what you complain I've been doing for years, anyway?_

_Oh well, Ginny is looking at me with an overly annoyed look. I think I need to stop here._

_Love, always,_

_Hermione_

She neatly folded the letter and wrote the address on it. She opened the cage where Pig was flying in endless circles, where she had put the owl to safely keep it from Crookshanks, and the little owl zoomed past her excitedly. She gave Pig a treat and attached the letter to its leg before opening the window and letting the little owl fly away toward Ron.

When she turned back to the room, a giddy smile plastered on her face, Hermione found Ginny looking at her a look of sheer incredulity on her face.

"I can't take that look on your face when you think of Ron," Ginny told her quite bluntly. "It's disgusting."

"Why? You have to admit Ron's a great man, isn't he?"

"Fine, he's a bloody hero. But the look of, how shall I put that, want that you have on your face is just plain disgusting."

Hermione laughed lightly, taking with good humour Ginny's tease. Ron's letter and the fact she would see him soon again had put her in an excellent mood, one that even being behind on her reading didn't alter. She picked up book number thirty-five and started to read, sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs by the fire. Ginny was across from her, reading an issue of the Quibbler, an amused smile on her pretty face. They were five minutes in their reading when both saw a silvery Patronus appear in the room. Hermione didn't recognise the coyote but Ginny did.

"George," Ginny muttered, quite surprised. George hadn't been able to conjure a Patronus since the battle.

Indeed, the silvery coyote started speaking in George's voice:

"Ginny, there has been an attack in Diagon Alley in front of the shop. Ron is at St Mungo's. I've contacted McGonagall and she should have a Portkey ready for you and Hermione to come here."

Ginny slowly digested the news. George had the way she did about being blunt and to the point but that was a lot to take in, she thought before she heard a loud thudding noise. She looked at Hermione and saw that the heavy tome she had been reading had escaped her friend's hands. Hermione stood in the middle of the room, seemingly frozen in place, her face a pale shade of white. She looked as if she was either going to throw up or pass out or both.

"Saint... Saint Mungo's," she stuttered. "Ron? Is… Is he hurt?"

"I don't know, Hermione," Ginny replied earnestly and with a calm she didn't feel. "What about we go and find McGonagall?"

However, they didn't have to go far to find the Headmistress as McGonagall appeared through the portrait hole of the Gryffindor common room. She approached them and started speaking:

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, I'm afraid I..." McGonagall stopped mid-sentence taking in the look of shock on both girls' faces. "You obviously know, so let's cut to the essential, shall we? I have a portkey waiting for you in my office. It will take you to St. Mungo's where your father," she pointed at Ginny, "will be waiting for you."

"Professor," Hermione asked her timidly. "Do you... do you know how bad?"

"I am afraid no," McGonagall replied, genuinely saddened while gently patting Hermione's shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

Hermione felt Ginny wrap an arm around her shoulder, a reassuring gesture. Tending to Hermione helped her keep at bay the panic and fear that were rising in her at the thought that she might lose another brother. She never let go of Hermione, not when they walked through Hogwarts, nor when they used the Portkey that took them to St. Mungo's.

* * *

><p>Narcissa looked at the delicate gold band diamond watch that was adorning her slender wrist. Where was Draco? He should have been meeting her thirty minutes ago and had not shown up. While her son was not a model of punctuality, she found it odd that he hadn't been there to meet her. Unless, like his faher, he had decided to let her handle the entire thing on her own, not wanting to bother with the matter.<p>

Draco wasn't the only one she was waiting for. She knew Acario Meads stood behind the massive oak door to her right and resented greatly to be made to wait. She considered it a mark of ill-breeding and disrespect but wasn't surprised by the treatment. She had known Acario since their days at Hogwarts. A fellow Slytherin, a year ahead of her, he had made a career of brewing and then selling potions, usually for a handsome profit. She also knew that he had a fascination with poisons and was rumoured to have an underground business selling lethal potions to whoever paid him enough gold. He had never been a Death Eater and while she believed him to share her views about blood purity in private, he made abstraction of his preferences in public, vowing allegiance only to gold. That had allowed him to maintain a coveted seat on the St Mungo's board of governors.

She had tried to make an offer to the entire board of governors but they had refused her donation unless it was made privately and without fanfare. So she had decided to go and sway some influential members to get to what she wanted. She expected to be able to persuade Meads to link the donation to a prominent public relation feast. If she did so, Lucius would see her idea to accept the deal from Granger hadn't been frivolous after all. She didn't know how she would accomplish this but she wasn't unintelligent and was convinced she could outwit Meads.

But Meads made her wait, in the anteroom of his well-appointed office at St Mungo's and she felt her patience dwindle with every ticking minute and that was aggravated by Draco not being here. The door finally opened and she saw the man standing in front of her. He was tall, nearly bald, a bit portly and rather well dressed. He also carried like a proud man, which she knew him to be to a fault. He wasn't handsome and his eyes and face were steely. His tone oozed insincerity as he greeted her:

"Narcissa, my dear, such a delight to see you. Looking beautiful, as always."

She knew how to play this game:

"The pleasure is mine, Acario," she replied in a honey-laced voice.

"Please have a seat. May I offer you something? Tea? Wine?"

"No thank you," she replied sweetly.

She would rather not try a drink from a man who was supposedly an expert in poisons.

"Very well, do you mind if I have one?"

"Not at all."

Meads poured himself a generous portion of wine and sat down facing her, across from his desk.

"So, Narcissa. To what do I owe your visit?"

To the point. There was a reason he was known as a ruthless business man.

"I would like to make a generous donation to St. Mungo's," she announced straight-faced, "and have the Malfoy name displayed with this donation. I know how powerful you are and that you can make it happen."

She was pleased to see that the flattery went straight to his ego as a smug smile graced his face as she said the words.

"Certainly, Narcissa, I could arrange this for an old friend," he told her as his hand went to rest on hers.

She had to suppress her knee-jerk reaction which was to swiftly subtract her hand from under his.

"I am very grateful that you can and count myself lucky to be among your friends," she replied, continuing the stroking of his ego.

"Narcissa, dear, you know how I made my fortune, don't you?"

She didn't want to respond, lest she threw in his face how she had a pretty good idea as the underground market for illegal poisons had been booming for the last three years. The war might be over but rancour and needs for revenge, from one side or the other, was not. She remained silent, inviting him to go on.

"It's all about negotiation, quid pro quo I believe the stupid Muggles call it. I clearly see what I can do for you, and Merlin knows you and Lucius need some good press, but what are you doing for me?"

He rose from his chair and she felt temporary relief as he lifted his hand from hers. She quickly folded her hands on her lap as she sat rod-straight in the comfortable chair. He came to sit on the one next to her and bored into her:

"Narcissa, you more than anyone should know everything has its price," he said in a soft voice as his hands went back to seize hers from her lap. She quickly withdrew them and rose to her full height to prevent another hand holding. She had to get to the point too:

"I have some relations within the Romanian ministry of magic and they are bidding for a new potion provider as their previous one was caught dealing in illegal poisons on the black market," she started and had the satisfaction of seeing a shadow pass across Meads's eyes. "They have a rather large market and it would be profitable. I certainly could help you get a meeting with a higher up in the ministry and I believe you'd be able to conclude the deal from there."

"The Romanian market? That would be lucrative indeed," he mused. "But Narcissa, dear," he said as he rose too and moved close to her, invading her personal space, "I already have an in on this deal."

She ignored whether it was true or not but knew she didn't like him so close to her. Her hand went to the pocket of her dress where she kept her wand and her fingers tightened around the wooden stick. She had to find another way or just leave.

"And I must admit I'm surprised you still have connections, Narcissa. Aren't Lucius and you prompt to get your friends (he said the word with emphasis) sent in tight little spaces in Azkaban?"

She took a step away from him, trying to maintain distance between the two of them.

"People send themselves to Azkaban, Acario," she replied sweetly.

"True, and Lucius has been such a good man that even Harry Potter thought he should be free," Meads replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maybe she had underestimated him.

"Narcissa, there's something you can do if you want this to happen," he told her coaxingly.

She decided to drop any pretence and end this charade as soon as she could.

"If you mean any type of situation where you and me have more than a friendly conversation, you're gravely delusional, Acario."

The rejection stung him. He had tried the same during their Hogwarts years and had received the same answer. She knew of other women who would have accepted his offer without hesitation. Yet, as high as her need to restore her name was, it was not worth sinking that low.

"Very well, Narcissa," he replied icily. "I then think there's not much I can do for you. You see, associating with the name Malfoy is not something very wise these days. And I already have enough with Shacklebolt and his Aurors breathing down my neck," he added the last part more for himself but as he took a look at her, he realised he had made a mistake.

"I'm afraid we must then part ways," Narcissa answered in a tone that conveyed absolutely no regret.

She barely nodded to him and saw herself out.

The minute she was out in the corridor of St. Mungo's, she let out a breath. While her plan to vow Meads into helping her get some publicity had failed, she had managed to glean information she could use later. Shacklebolt was suspicious of Meads. Maybe after all, helping the Aurors was not the unique purview of Lucius. Thinking of Lucius made her think of Draco and she felt anger rise in her again. Draco had sworn he would accompany her. He had said he would help her with this and show his father that he could represent the Malfoy name just as well or even better than him. And yet, just like his father, he was failing her.

As she walked through the main hall toward the St Mungo's exit, she noticed the agitation around her. She discreetly eavesdropped on the conversation between two receptionists at the front desk:

"The Weasley shop on Diagon Alley had its window completely blown up. One of the Weasley brothers was brought here. He looked bad. I don't know which one it was though. You know, they all look alike with the red hair."

"I hope it's not Ron," the other one replied. "You know, the one who helped Harry Potter."

"I also heard that the Malfoy son was injured. No idea what that scum was doing there but he seems he was injured too."

Narcissa's world started spinning as she heard the two witches.

She dropped all pretence and just approached the receptionists. There was an air of recognition in one of the receptionists and an automatic frown but Narcissa didn't care:

"I'm Narcissa Malfoy. Did you say that my son Draco was injured and brought here?"

"You may want to talk with the gentleman over there," the receptionist replied, quite rudely, while pointing out in the direction of a young man that Narcissa recognised as Neville Longbottom.

Longbottom recognised her and met her halfway as she walked rapidly toward him. He looked at her with ill-disguised loathe and finally spoke:

"Mrs Malfoy. I was looking for you."

She bit her lip and the swallowed the comment that he hadn't been looking very hard but she was taken aback when she saw his face soften as he announced to her:

"Your son has been injured during an explosion in Diagon Alley. We're still trying to piece what happened exactly. Mal...Your son is in the hands of the healers right now. You have clearance to go there," he added as he summoned a small piece of parchment that indicated the location where Draco was tended to.

"How is he?" she asked in a cracked voice.

"Our assessment in the field was some internal injuries, a broken arm and some cuts but since he was brought here quickly, his odds are good."

She exhaled with relief. How could she have been furious with Draco? She might have lost him and she had been preoccupied with him not showing up for their appointment. Longbottom drew her out of her thoughts by telling her:

"Same can't be said of Ron Weasley, though."

Narcissa looked at the Longbottom boy, now a man, and found herself surprised by thinking of how she had seen Molly Weasley during the audience, how the woman had looked despondent after losing one of her children. The same pang of sympathy she had felt then returned, to her surprise.

"I hope he recovers too," she told him sincerely and saw shock on Longbottom's face. "How come both were injured together?"

"We're still working that out," Longbottom replied, his Auror face back on.

"Naturally," she replied and swiftly made her way to the lift to go and see Draco.

* * *

><p>The travel by Portkey had been disorientating as always. When Hermione felt her feet touch the ground, she felt some relief and a strong wave of nausea, brought on both by her travel and her fear for Ron's state. She felt Ginny's hand squeeze hers, reminding her she had someone to lean on. She was grateful for Ginny as she was very much on the verge of losing it and completely breaking down.<p>

They saw Arthur Weasley a few feet away, looking grim. He quickly enveloped his daughter in a tight hug and repeated the process with Hermione. He finally spoke:

"The healers are still working on him. He got some broken bones, cuts, and was hit in the head by some rubble from the explosion."

"What happened?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"George and Harry can fill you in. George got injured a bit himself but refused treatment. Follow me," he told them leading them to the lift.

They rode the lift and finally stopped on the fourth floor. Arthur led them to a small room filled with many red heads. But it was Harry who came out first and greeted them in a tight hug. Hermione could see the worry plainly etched on Harry's face and knew he needed the hug for his own solace as much as to reassure his girlfriend and best friend.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked before even taking the time to properly greet the other occupants of the room.

"It looks like Draco Malfoy was attacked in front of the shop. Before he was attacked, Ron saw his attacker and went out to protect Draco."

"He tried to protect the ferret?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"He's an Auror in training," Harry replied. "We're supposed to catch dark wizards and prevent them from harming others."

"You mean Draco was attacked by a dark wizard?" Hermione asked.

"Witch," Harry corrected.

"Serves him right," Ginny muttered under her breath, obviously feeling no sympathy for Malfoy.

"From what George says, Malfoy saw Ron with his wand raised and the idiot thought Ron was going to attack him so it looks like he tried to stun him. That's when the witch cast an Expulso curse and both Ron and Malfoy were caught in the rubble."

Harry blanched a bit as he recalled receiving a visit from a silvery coyote talking in George's voice and asking him to come over as soon as possible and bring some Aurors along. He had arrived with Neville and two Aurors and had been met by a scene of desolation, the front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes completely blown out, reminding him eerily of a similar scene during the battle. He had seen George kneeling down by Ron's unconscious body, working frenetically on staunching the blood that seemed to ooze from his head. Verity had been using her wand to remove rubble and glass to let Malfoy's body emerge. Angelina had been holding another witch as wand's end, although the other witch was unconscious, having been hit by a strong stunning spell that Harry later learnt had been cast by George.

He had heard George mutter curses under his breath, almost chiding Ron:

"Why, Ron? Why do you have to go and be a bloody hero? Do you know what will happen if you die? Mum will kill me, and then Hermione and Harry, and then Ginny. Why did you have to save the fucking ferret's life?"

"Harry?" Hermione's voice drew him back to the present

"Sorry," he apologised. "We have the witch in custody."

"Who's she?" Ginny asked wanting to get answers and not to think about another brother possibly dying.

"Travers's daughter. Her father was sentenced to life in Azkaban because of Lucius Malfoy's information. She wanted to take revenge against the Malfoys and what better place to do it than in front of the Weasley shop?" Harry asked with sarcasm.

Hermione could hear the undertone of guilt in his voice. George must have heard it too as he came to join their little group and cut Harry off:

"Yes, Harry, it's all your fault. Always is. Never mind that any of us might have made our own choice about what side to fight on or that Travers and company could've chosen another path in life. Will you bloody stop your hero complex, Potter? Or I will really have to hex your bollocks off because you won't be worth going out with my baby sister."

There was humour in the tone but the George's meaning was more of a warning. Hermione decided to diffuse the tension:

"Hi George."

George hugged both Ginny and Hermione and seemed to forget about his rant with Harry. Ginny and Hermione then went to the other Weasleys. Molly was now crying uncontrollably, not wanting to fathom what losing another son would do to her, while Arthur was sitting next to her, holding her hand and looking like an old man all of a sudden. Bill, Fleur, and Percy werethere too, looking like they were reliving the worst time of their life. And Hermione noticed Angelina Johnson was there too and she came to stand next to George and took his hand. Ginny noticed too and just smiled at George to confer her approval.

They waited for what felt like hours but were only thirty minutes. Some of them were sitting, some of them were pacing, until the door finally opened and the healer came in. He didn't waste time and got to the point:

"His injuries were all physical, not the direct result of a curse, so we were able to heal most of them. He has a broken wrist and three cracked ribs, numerous lacerations from the glass and bruises from the falling rubble. This will all heal with a course of potions. He did receive a serious blow to the head. I have healed the physical injury but there may be some additional damage to his brain. We'll know more when he wakes up. The good news is that he will definitely survive."

There was a collective sigh of relief in the room until Molly asked:

"When can we see him?"

"You can go there now. As I say, he's still sleeping."

There was a mass exodus toward the room the healer had indicated. Hermione was the first to reach his bed. She saw him lying there, as white as the sheets, bruises and cuts mingled with freckles on his face. She knew it would heal, the rational part of her did, but she couldn't help the sob that escaped her. She couldn't help the following ones that came after and racked her body as she bent over the bed. And she didn't care that the Weasleys were watching, many of their eyes misty too. She heard Arthur tell the others:

"Maybe we should give some time to the two of them."

"Yeah, Dad is right," George chimed in. "He's asleep and will soon start moaning about Hermione anyway, so we'd better get out."

Hermione appreciated the kindness and the fact the Weasleys put their own need to be with Ron so she could have some time to compose herself. But she was crying too hard to be able to form any word reflecting her gratitude. Once again, Ron Weasley had made incapable of coherent speech.

She took his large hand in her smaller one and was happy to feel his fingers gently flex around hers. She heard him murmur her name, just like George had said he would, and just lay her head down on the bed, next to his. He would be all right, she repeated in her head like a mantra. He would be all right.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** _Of course, Ron will be all right. I'm not going to kill the hero of the story, am I?_

_Sorry we didn't get any Draco in this chapter but we will next one. Also, I couldn't find what Patronus George had from the books but I read somewhere on the Harry Potter wiki that it was a coyote. It also seems that Rowling said that George wasn't able to produce a Patronus after Fred's death but I think under the circumstances, seeing Ron almost die, it would make the effort possible._

_Thank you for reading and, as always, reviews are appreciated._


	12. Wake up

**A/N **_I know, I know, it's been over two weeks since the last update and I apologize for it. Regrettably, real life came crashing down on me with a series of unexpected and unfortunate events (a death in the family) and this fic was suddenly relegated to the rank of things that could wait. But here I am with a new chapter._

_I want to set expectations for the pace at which the rest of the story will be updated. Just like Hermione, I have some NEWT type exam I need to prepare for and just like her, I am behind in my reading (although, unlike Hermione, it's not because I spend my free time fantasizing about a tall ginger guy, LOL!) So I will change my update frequency to every other week. _

_Now, __I know I left the last chapter full of angst and I promise Ron would wake up so you will see a lot of him here._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I want to thank everyone who reads, alerts, favorites, or reviews this story. I am humbled by the love and thoughtfulness I receive in the reviews, so thank you. _

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: Wake up<strong>

The hand that gently caressed his forehead and hair was warm, soft, and familiar. It brought back memories of being sick with dragon pox and curled up in a bed too big for his small six-year old frame, holding a stuffed Welsh Green.

He felt safe, protected, like nothing could reach him.

As he instinctively reached for the familiar comfort of his stuffed toy, he felt a sharp pain in his arm and was harshly reminded that he was no longer six but eighteen and in a very different world and place.

The hand had stopped its stroking and Draco heard his mother's voice speak to him, a mix of love and worry:

"Draco? Draco, sweetheart, are you awake?"

He slowly opened his eyes, the effort a costly one as both eyes felt swollen and as if they been sewn-shut. He took the white room in around him and saw the wand and bone insignia of St. Mungo's.

"Mother," he croaked as talking felt like swallowing needles.

"You're all right, Draco," she reassured him. "Let me go and fetch the healer."

She patted him affectionately on the shoulder and went out to get a healer. While she did so, he made his brain work to try to remember what had led him into a room at St. Mungo's. The images came back slowly. Weasley trying to protect him and then the explosion and feeling his body fly in the air and hit stone and glass. And he remembered seeing Weasley lying next to him, bleeding copiously.

He sat up gingerly and found his arm in a sling. There was a bottle of Skele-Gro on the bedside table. He must have broken his arm. He also saw some scars healing on his arms and hands and, as he looked under the sheets and the gown he was wearing, everywhere on his body. They must have been the results of the glass that had rained on him. He also felt a sharp pain inside his stomach as he straightened his back against the pillow.

He was in pain, in excruciating pain, almost like he was under the Cruciatus curse, he thought. He quickly realised the absurdity of that thought. He had never been on the receiving end of the curse but had cast it and had witnessed what it did. He knew it had to be a level of pain that even the one he currently was in did not even start to compare to. He wondered how people could even bear it.

He saw his mother come back in the room, followed by a Mediwitch who looked barely older than him and whom he remembered as a Hufflepuff a few years ahead of him. The Mediwitch's face was neither warm nor friendly when she faced him.

"I have some potion for you to ease the pain," she told him as she held a goblet full of a purplish potion.

He took a look at the potion and told her:

"I always knew the Hufflepuff were good for nothing when it came to potions. You're calling this pain potion? You're missing beetle powder. It should be dark blue in colour, not purple."

He saw the Mediwitch look at him with annoyance before she lashed at him:

"There's more than one way to brew a pain potion, Malfoy," she said his name with much contempt. "The beetle powder is costly and only adds a pleasant taste to the potion. The one you have here is just tasteless, maybe with a slight metallic taste, but that's all the hospital can afford right now. So unless you want to forego the potion, that's what you'll take for pain."

She left the room, leaving the potion on the bedside table and muttering he was lucky she had taken an oath to heal but that she would talk Mr. Greengrass.

Draco drank the potion nonetheless as he knew the Mediwitch had been correct about the effect of the potion but still was in a very poor mood.

"The impudence of that Mediwitch!" he heard his mother say. "Doesn't she know who you are?"

"I know she does," Draco replied darkly, "which means she would have given me the bad tasting potion even if the hospital could afford the beetle powder."

"Draco," she started and was interrupted by Longbottom who entered the room, looking tall in his Auror in training robes.

"What is it, Longbottom?" Narcissa snapped at him, visibly irritated by the interruption.

Neville ignored her and addressed Draco:

"I heard you were awake and well enough to make snide remarks about Hufflepuff, so you're well enough to talk to the Auror department, Malfoy. We need to get your version of what happened in Diagon Alley. Some witnesses report that you attacked Ron Weasley."

"The sodding idiot came running at me with his wand raised. Was I supposed to wait for him to hex me with open arms?" Draco asked sarcastically.

"Did you notice why Ron was running with his wand raised?" Neville asked.

"I understood when I heard him use a shield charm. Aren't Aurors supposed to use non verbal spells? 'Cause there was nothing silent about Weasley," Draco added with a sneer.

The sneer vanished as he remembered Weasley lying next to him among the rubble, his head lying in a pool of blood.

"Did you realise someone else was trying to attack you?" Neville pursued.

Draco sighed, still trying to push the image of rubble and blood out of his head. He finally admitted:

"When I heard Weasley, I turned around and saw someone else with a wand pointed at me and at that awful shop. Then I remember flying and seeing the rubble and glass and Weasley lying next to me."

And then a thought hit him just like the rubble had:

"Is... is Weasley dead?"

Neville's face was unreadable but Draco thought he saw the beginning of an upside twitch, indicating that Weasley was already not dead. But what was so amusing?

"Malfoy, you surprise me," Neville finally said. "Do you actually care? Do you care about anyone else than you? Because that surely would be a first."

"if you're going to insult my son, please get out of the room," Narcissa hissed at Neville.

"Auror Business, Ma'am. I still have questions," Neville answered coolly. "To answer your question, Malfoy, no Ron isn't dead. He's recovering right now. But you realise he saved your sorry arse, don't you?"

That surprised Draco just like it had when he had understood Weasley's pupose in Diagon Alley. Weasley had saved his life. What in the ruddy hell had possessed him to do so?

"The shield charm Ron Weasley cast helped deflect the full strength of the Expulso curse cast by your attacker. It would have been much worse without it. You'd probably both be dead."

"Terrific! I'll make sure to owl him to thank him," Draco answered in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

He hadn't asked Weasley for anything, after all.

"And the attacker?" Draco pursued. "Did you catch him? Isn't that the actual job of the Auror Department?"

"Her," Neville corrected. "It seems George Weasley stunned her just in time and she's in custody."

"Who's she?" Draco and Narcissa asked at the same time, not paying attention to the fact that another Weasley had defended Draco.

"Elmira Travers. I believe you're familiar with the Travers family, aren't you?"

Narcissa blanched. Would there be other relatives of the Death Eaters that Lucius had helped send to Azkaban? Would they try to harm Draco too?

"Anyway, I just wanted to corroborate what the witnesses said. While people said you stunned Ron Weasley, they also saw that you stopped once you realised what was going on, that you were the target and not the attacker, which is quite the change. You're free to go back home as soon as the healers see you fit, Malfoy," Neville said before exiting, leaving behind him a bemused Draco.

What had the war done? Longbottom, who had been a bumbling idiot just a few years ago, was now hard and an Auror in training with some bloody presence. Weasley was saving his life and he, Draco Malfoy, was the victim. It made no sense whatsoever.

* * *

><p>The first thing Ron felt was the gentle tickling of hair against his cheek. He would recognise this hair and the sweet smell associated with it anywhere. Hermione<p>

Slowly, he opened his eyes, which felt very puffy. They were ruthlessly met with bright light and walls painted white. He looked to the walls and through a window. He noticed it was night outside. He had no idea what time it was or where he was but Hermione was here. She wasn't lying in the bed next to him, where he would have preferred her. She was bent over the bed, sitting on a chair nearby. It was just her head resting on the pillow next to his. Her mouth was slightly parted and he could see a little bit of drool pooling at the corner of her mouth, which brought a small smile to his face.

That's when he realised that smiling hurt, hurt a lot actually. He tried to stand up and a moan escaped him as every nerve ending in his body seemed to scream in pain. He saw Hermione's head shoot up suddenly:

"Ron," she said his name in alarm. How much he had longed to hear her voice but alarm wasn't the tone he wanted to hear. "Ron, don't move," she told him. "I need to get the healer," she babbled

He tried to smile and tell her he wasn't that bad but he stopped in his tracks as he saw her red-rimmed eyes.

"What happened?" he asked her in a gravelly voice. "Why did you cry?"

"Don't you remember anything?" she asked worryingly.

His brain slowly worked on piecing things together, although it made his head throb violently. He realised he was in St Mungo's. The first images that came back to him were of a conversation with George.

"You know George is going out with Angelina?"

He saw the small smile on her face, a genuine one.

"Yes, Ginny and I saw them yesterday."

Yet, she still looked extremely worried and his instinct was that it had nothing to do with George choosing Angelina as a girlfriend. It was like she was hanging on every one of his words, wanting to check he hadn't somehow gone completely barking.

He made an effort that cost him a violent pulsating pain in his right temple but it helped letting the fog shrouding his memory ebb out:

"Malfoy. He was walking in front of the shop, and there was someone who wanted to hex him just in front of the shop. I... I ran and tried to cast a shield charm but that fucking ferret tried to stun me. Then I just remember a blast and being thrown backward."

"Yes, that's what George described," she told him and he could hear the relief in her voice. Why was she relieved he had been blown away by an explosion?

"Hermione, why do you sound so happy I got blown away?"

He saw her eyes register surprise at his words and then the usual intelligent light came back:

"I'm happy because you remember. The healer told us that all your injuries were physical, nothing caused by a dark curse. But you suffered a major head trauma and he said you might have brain damage."

He snorted a laugh at that.

"That's not funny, Ron," she admonished him almost angrily.

"Yes, it is," he answered between a wince and a laugh (laughing hurt and he suspected he had sustained some broken ribs). "Hermione, Love, Fred and George used me all the time as a target when they practiced aiming Bludgers. It can't be worse, can it? And besides, I'm best friend with Harry Potter and I'm in love with you. I reckon I have to be a bit mental already for all that. So what's additional brain damage?"

She didn't know whether she should feel insulted by the fact he called himself mental for being in love with her but that infuriating part of him, plus the fact that he remembered everything before the attack told her she had Ron, with his full brain, working in ways she would never fully understand. Nonetheless, it was her Ron, the man she loved.

She just shook her head. Even from a hospital bed, he could drive her completely mad.

Ron could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she must have been taking in the fact that he was his normal self. All right, his normal self in a good deal of pain, but he felt the same. He decided to get as much information from her as possible.

"What happened after the explosion?" he asked her.

She explained how George had stunned the attacker and then called Harry and the Aurors. She told him about being contacted at Hogwarts and how everyone had anxiously waited for news.

He groaned at that:

"Fuck, how's Mum?"

"She was relieved to hear you were all right. She's sitting in the waiting room outside. I'll go and fetch her and the rest of your family."

"No, wait," he told her.

"Why?" They want to know as soon as you wake up."

"I... I just want some time with you," he told her sheepishly.

"Ron, you also need some pain potion," she told him with slight admonition.

"I'm fine," he lied. "I just want to hold you. You've been crying, haven't you?"

She sat next to him on the bed and sighed heavily:

"We didn't know whether you would make it," she told him in a whisper. "You can't do that, Ron."

"What can't I do?"

"You scared me," she accused him as she pointed an index at his still sensitive ribs.

"I almost lost you," she said in a barely audible voice.

"But you didn't," he replied firmly. "Come here," he asked her as he gingerly gathered her in his left arm, the right one seemingly having a broken wrist. He sighed contentedly as her proximity was better than any potion to soothe the pain in his body.

He held her close, inhaling the wonderful smell of her, and letting her cry the last of her tears. He hated to see her cry, especially when he was the cause of it. And for some reason, he always seemed to be the cause. He heard her sniffle loudly. He looked for his wand, which was standing besides him on the bedside table, somehow looking as if it was in perfect working order. He picked it up and ignored the pain that shot through his mending wrist as he used it. He silently conjured a handkerchief, which, he was relieved to see, did look like a handkerchief. He held it to her. She looked at him and he saw her smile through the remnants of her tears as she took the handkerchief from him.

"What's so funny?" he asked her, mildly offended by her reaction. It did look like a handkerchief, didn't it?

"You always seem to have a handkerchief ready for me when I'm crying," she told him in a watery voice. "You haven't used this one to clean the oven, have you?"

He took a look of mock-offence. All right, the last time he had given her a handkerchief to dry her tears, it had been the one he had used to clean his mother's oven. But he had used a cleaning charm first, hadn't he? And that had been over a year and a half ago.

"Your lack of faith is amazing," he joked self-deprecatingly. "I had cleaned the other one, you know."

And at that, he heard her laugh. He didn't know how to deal with her when she was crying. That was why he hated to see her cry. But he could handle making her laugh, even if at his expense. That, he was good at.

"Thank you," she told him after she wiped her tears and blew her nose noisily.

"I must look a fright," she told him, looking in vain for a mirror.

"Nah, you're beautiful."

"And you're biased."

"Maybe," he admitted as he gathered her closer and kissed her lips tenderly.

His lips had barely grazed hers when they realised they had an audience when George and Ginny started arguing:

"I told you he'd wake up soon," Ginny said.

Hermione straightened up suddenly, removing her soft lips from his as her face turned quite pink. He wanted her to come back but she rose to stand by the bed instead.

"And you owe me one sickle as he was indeed snogging the lovely Miss Granger," George retorted in a voice that wanted to be humorous but only transpired as relieved.

"I'll go get Mum," George offered as Ginny got in the room and did something she didn't do often. She threw herself in Ron's arms.

He didn't protest when her arms closed around his neck and she held him tight, pressing on his sensitive ribs.

She let go for a moment to better look at him and then he saw that under the bravado, there had been tears in her eyes. Ginny almost never cried. What had he done to her?

She pointed at the top of his right arm:

"Are you hurt here?" she asked him.

"Huh? No... not here," he replied, perplexed by her question.

And then he saw her make fists and starting to hit the top of the spot she had just pointed.

"Don't ever do that again, you daft git," she yelled at him.

She might be small, but she also was fierce and determined and her little fists kept hitting him, an outlet for the anger she felt oozing through her body.

"Ouch, Ginny. Stop it."

She was thrown backward by the shield charm Hermione cast. Ginny quickly rose on her feet and pointed an accusatory finger at Ron.

"You scared Mum. You scared me. You scared her," she said, pointing at Hermione. "And for what?"

"Oi, are you done, you lunatic?" He asked her as he started rubbing the tender spot on his biceps where she had let out her anger at him for having almost been killed. He thought incongruously that poor Harry didn't know what he was getting himself into with Ginny.

Ginny ignored him and carried on:

"To save Malfoy's life!" she exclaimed dejectedly.

Ron waited for her breathing to even out and for her to calm down.

"All done?" he finally asked his sister.

He saw her exhale and knew that the outburst had helped her deal with her emotions. She nodded sheepishly.

"Good. And by the way, I didn't do this just to protect Malfoy. The witch, she was aiming at the shop too. And the last thing we need in the window is a dead ferret, now, do we?"

"That'd be bloody ghastly," George chimed in as he came back in the room with the rest of the Weasley clan. Ron wanted to protest he needed pain potion before he could deal with the lot of them but was engulfed in small but strong arms before he had time to utter a single word.

"Molly, let him breathe," Arthur said pleasantly.

Ron didn't push his mother away. She was smothering him, putting exquisite pain on his sore ribs (didn't any of them know he had broken ribs?) but he knew holding him thusly helped her. He also suspected her reaction would be close to Ginny's if he broke the tight hug, so he didn't complain.

"Hi, Mum," he managed as she finally let go of him.

They all started talking at once, asking how he was and what had happened. He noticed Harry wasn't there –he had had to go back to the Auror office to help Neville and the other two full Aurors close the case and make sure Elmira Travers was safely sent to Azkaban, Ginny explained. Harry would be back in the morning.

Ron's head pounded more and more and he thought darkly that even though he didn't seem to have suffered any brain damage from the blast, an hour with his family constantly talking may change that. He saw Hermione discreetly exit the room and prayed that it was to fetch him some pain potion. She didn't disappoint and came back a few moments later, not only with potions but also with someone looking suspiciously like a healer.

"Mr. Weasley, good to see you awake," the healer said as he gave him a full goblet of potion. "This should help with the cracked ribs and pounding headache you must have."

"Thanks," Ron replied gratefully before downing the slightly metallic tasting potion.

He felt the effect almost right away, feeling much better all of a sudden.

"You probably also should get some rest," he said, looking oddly at Hermione and Ron understood what she must have done. His eyes met hers and he could see her smile shyly, confirming his suspicions.

His entire family filed out of the room, leaving him alone with Hermione again.

"You should go to sleep soon," she told him. "You heard the healer, you need some rest."

"Will you stay?"

"I have to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow morning, but I'll stay here tonight. I'm afraid I can't share your bed, though."

"Why is that?" he asked with unmasked disappointment.

"First, it's rather small."

"All the better, we'll be closer."

"And second, it's against St. Mungo's rules."

"You're not afraid of breaking rules when it's worth it," he told her in a yawn. "I'm pretty sure shagging in the girls lav is against Hogwarts rules."

"Precisely," she replied.

"Hermione," he asked her as he felt exhaustion overcome his body. "I just want to hold you. As much as I wish otherwise, I don't think I've got the energy for anything else."

He saw the light chuckle and knew he had won. She came to lie next to him and it didn't take long for them to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>A few rooms over, Draco was still awake and talking with his mother:<p>

"Will you stay here tonight?" he asked her, trying to mask how childish he felt for asking her.

"Yes," she answered.

"Won't Father wonder where you are?"

"I seriously doubt your father will even notice my absence," she told him with great bitterness.

Draco remained quiet, focusing on the sling his arm lay in, as it were the most fascinating invention ever. He took a deep breath and decided to change the subject:

"I didn't ask, but how did your meeting with Meads go?"

"Poorly," she replied laconically. "The brute tried to proposition me."

Draco looked at his mother with both outrage and disgust on his face.

"The bastard!"

"No matter, Draco. It's another avenue I have to cross out. There are other members on the board, some of them I am sure we can persuade to help us. However, I must admit my disappointment, since Meads has some influence."

She got silent as someone knocked on the door and came in without further preamble.

The man was rather short and lean and wore round spectacles perched atop a long nose. He wore his dark brown hair to his shoulders, a wild mess of curls, distracting somewhat from the growing bold spot in the middle of his scalp. His blue eyes were small but piercing as he took Draco in, and the vague look of recognition in both the mother and son.

"Castor Greengrass," he announced holding a hand for shaking to Draco.

Draco shook the hand back and quickly realised where he had seen the man before:

"Daphne's father, aren't you?"

"Indeed, Daphne is my elder daughter. I believe she was in your year at Hogwarts. Mrs. Malfoy," he nodded curtly in direction of Narcissa.

"I'm here because I'm the head potioneer at St Mungo's and Miss Elworth told me you complained about our potions," he said pleasantly. "I'm sure you realise St Mungo's had to burden more than its fair share after the war and its ravages. Our coffers aren't empty but we need to be careful about superfluous expenses."

Narcissa smiled bitterly at this. The hospital needed gold but yet refused to accept hers.

"Yet, the board refused a very generous contribution we were ready to make," she sneered.

"Indeed, Mrs. Malfoy, we did, as St. Mungo's mission is to heal, not to serve as a platform to restore your name. Your actions will have to do that," he replied pleasantly.

She threw him a dark contemptuous look but he was completely unfazed.

"The point of my visit is that Miss Elworth also mentioned you made derogatory remarks about her and the house she was sorted in while at Hogwarts. I'll ask that you refrain from insulting my staff, Mr Malfoy. Otherwise be prepared to go without any pain potion. I assure you it won't prevent you from healing. Good day," he said shortly as he turned around and left the room.

"Hufflepuffs are still a bunch of cretins when it comes to potions," Draco remarked snidely to his mother. He could see she was in deep thoughts, as if something had clicked for her at the sight of Greengrass.

"Of course," she exclaimed aloud.

"Mother?"

"Greengrass was a close friend of my dear sister," she told him, putting a sarcastic emphasis on the word dear.

"Bellatrix?" Draco asked perplexed, not imagining his late aunt had had any friend, especially not one defending Hufflepuffs.

"No, Andromeda. They shared some views and were in the same year. I had forgotten that. But I think this may work to our advantage."

Draco could almost see the wheels turning as his mother worked on crafting a new plan.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Ron felt well enough for a short walk to the tearoom on the fifth floor. His family had gone back to their respective residences but Harry had showed up bright and early and Ginny had been with him, milking every opportunity she had in her short impromptu time away from Hogwarts to spend time with Harry. Ron was still very happy to see his sister, especially knowing that she and Hermione would have to go back to Hogwarts by mid-morning.<p>

The four of them slowly made their way to the tearoom and sat at a table hidden in a quiet corner. They noticed in the opposite corner of the room Malfoy and his mother finishing a cup of tea and seemingly getting ready to leave.

"I guess Malfoy is feeling better too," Ron said.

"He's fine," Harry confirmed. "Neville talked with him yesterday evening. He does admit he stunned you but says it was in self defence. Can't blame the bloke for being scared when seeing you running with a wand aimed at him," Harry joked. "He's a coward to begin with and the last time you went at him, you punched him."

"You punched Malfoy?" Ginny asked with a mix of incredulity and admiration.

"He'd insulted Hermione," Ron justified.

"I wish I could've seen that," Ginny mused.

"It wasn't pretty," Harry told her.

"Anyway, can we talk about something else than Malfoy? I'm hungry and don't want to ruin my appetite."

Just as Ron was saying that, a waitress appeared to take their order and, as she recognised them, ask for their autographs. Ginny witnessed the strange spectacle of seeing the three victors of Voldemort turn various shades of pink and red at the request. None of them enjoyed the fame, especially not Ron now that he had tasted it.

The waitress beamed at Ron as he was the last one to sign and handed back the quill and parchment to her. He cleared his throat and told her:

"For breakfast, can I have four toasts with orange marmalade, two poached eggs, some sausages, fried potatoes, beans, and hog's pudding? Oh, and can I get a bowl of porridge too?"

Hermione was amazed by the amount of food ordered and decided it was a sign his legendary appetite was back and that Ron was definitely on the mend. She just looked at him with her mouth open as the waitress walked away.

"What?" he asked defensively. "I've told you: I'm hungry."

She just shook her head with a small smile. Ginny wasn't so kind:

"Is there ever a time you're not hungry?"

He very maturely stuck his tongue at Ginny who responded in kind. Harry and Hermione watched the siblings with an air between amusement and disbelief.

"At least, he doesn't give the finger to Ginny like he does to me," Harry whispered to Hermione but loud enough for all to hear.

They all burst into laughter but stopped in their tracks as they saw Narcissa Malfoy make a detour on her way out of the tearoom and approach their table.

She ignored Harry, Hermione, and Ginny, and looked at Ron only.

The crooked smile still hanging to his lips quickly vanished and was replaced by a frown and an intimidating and somewhat hostile stare:

"What d'you want?" he addressed Narcissa curtly.

"You saved Draco," she simply stated.

"Well, I didn't fancy seeing my brother's shop blown to smithereens and Malfoy being part of the decor."

"Thank you," she just replied before turning around and leaving their table, leaving the four of them flabbergasted.

"Did Narcissa Malfoy just thank you?" Ginny asked disbelievingly.

"I reckon she did," Ron said, still absorbing what had happened.

"Maybe Hermione's plan is starting to bear some fruit and she's seeing the light side," Harry mused.

"She may be prejudiced," Hermione said, but she's also a mother and you did save her only son," Hermione added wisely.

They finished their breakfast and had time for a little extra banter before it was time for Hermione and Ginny to say good bye. Letting go of Hermione was always difficult and it seemed to be worse this time. Ron knew this separation would be a short one but it didn't make it any less painful. Harry had to go shortly thereafter and left Ron alone in his room to rest.

Ron had been reading the Quibbler quietly when he heard a knock on the door followed by his father's voice. He winced, remembering his broken wrist, as he used his wand to open the door. He smiled warmly at his father and they exchanged a few words. Arthur was about to leave back for the Ministry when he suddenly remembered something.

"Ah, Pig delivered this for you this afternoon," he told Ron as he handed him a letter. "A letter from Hermione, isn't it? I'm sure that'll cheer you up," Arthur added with an all-knowing wink.

Ron hugged his father good bye and when he was alone again, feverishly opened the letter, at least as feverishly as his still mending wrist would allow. Hermione had written to him the morning of the blast. As he read the letter, he couldn't help the smile that graced his face. He was the only one to know it, but Hermione could be a naughty girl. And he wasn't any better as he felt his cock twitch in appreciation and expectation as he read the last paragraph of her letter. Yes, he was definitely healing fast. His only problem now was that he had a broken wrist. Fate was so cruel...

* * *

><p><strong>AN **_Hermione's letter had to make another apparition as it definitely would cheer Ron up..._


	13. Reunion

**A/N **_First,I just want to thank everyone who sent me kind words of comfort after the last chapter. It was very nice and much appreciated. I also want to thank all of you who read and review or put this story on your favorites. This is definitely the greatest motivator of all._

_About this chapter, fluff alert! As I've mentioned before, I'm in the middle of massive reviewing in preparation for an exam. I needed some escape from this so this chapter got a bit on the lighter, although there's enough Malfoy in there for not all fluff (Draco isn't ready for fluff yet). I hope you enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: Reunion<strong>

Billowing smoke could be seen from far away, getting closer by the second. The three young men stood on the hidden platform of King's Cross station, waiting for the scarlet steam engine to finally appear.

The tallest of them was pacing like a lion stuck in a cage, marking his impatience with every resolute step. The other two just stood there, chatting amiably about Christmas plans and open cases.

At last, the train made its appearance in the station and Ron could barely stand still, as he listened absentmindedly to Harry and Neville's conversation. All he could think of was that Hermione was now only a few feet away from him, that he would be able to hold her soon ... and hopefully do a lot more now that he was fully recovered. While his mending wrist had prevented him from writing too much, she had written to him, filling letters long enough to make up for his brevity. And she had tried, and succeeded, to cheer him up by being naughty enough for the two of them too. Knowing himself and what devious little things he had written to her in the past, that was some tall order. But he did have a brilliant girlfriend, didn't he?

They had to wait for the students to exit the train, even though only three girls really held their interest. Ron sighed as another pack of tiny first year students made their way out. Still no sign of Hermione. He reckoned that because of her head girl duty, she would probably be the last to exit, tormenting him just a tad more.

Luna was the first to make her appearance. She descended the stairs from the train to the platform and skipped toward them, radish earrings dangling with every step, and a dreamy smile gracing her oddly pretty face. She actually looked quite serene as she pecked a slightly pink Neville on the lips. Neville just beamed and Ron couldn't fathom what he saw in Luna.

Ron liked Luna, he liked her a lot, and not just because she could be relied upon for good entertainment (although he enjoyed that too about her). No, Luna was courageous and above all, he envied her ability to just be herself and not give a rat's arse about what other people were thinking. Still, the girl was barmy half the time. As if he could talk about falling for a girl who was mental half the time.

Ginny appeared next at the train door, talking animatedly with Hermione. That was until she saw untidy black hair and just left Hermione's side to run in Harry's arms. Ron had to suppress a groan as he saw his little sister, his baby sister really, snog Harry with so much eagerness she might swallow his tongue. At least, Harry had the decency to blush a red that would have made any Weasley proud. Yet, the git didn't take his hands off from around Ginny's waist and they were actually going south, resting firmly on Ginny's backside.

Ron was about to cough when he was distracted by a sweet smell, brown bushy hair, and a familiar bossy tone:

"Are you gonna stare at them until your eyes fall off or are you going to give me a proper greeting?"

A slow crooked smile formed on his lips as he reached for Hermione and bent down to give her the proper greeting she had requested, taking her mouth in a searing kiss that had her wanting for breath and for all the other things he wanted to do.

As he emerged from the kiss, a giddy grin plastered on his face, Ron saw four pairs of eyes focused on Hermione and him.

"What?" he asked defensively. "I haven't seen her in ten days and last time I did I was not in great shape, now, was I?"

Hermione blushed to a pretty pink but he could see the keen look of approval in her chocolate eyes.

"Yes, that's really nice you're well now," Luna said sincerely. "I'm sure you must have missed having intercourse with Hermione," she added dreamily but seriously.

Here they were again. You could always depend on Luna for entertainment, Ron thought darkly as he saw Harry and Ginny fighting very hard to suppress a laugh while Neville seemed to have suddenly found the ceiling of King's Cross station absolutely fascinating. And Hermione looked like she wanted to find a hole to crawl into.

"Right," Harry finally said as he regained enough composure to keep at bay the laugh threatening to overcome him. "What about we head for the Burrow? Will you join us, Neville, Luna?"

"Not today," Neville replied. "We're going back to Gran's. But we'll see you for Christmas. Two days. I can't wait to see your new place, Harry."

They bade good bye to Luna and Neville and made their way to Disapparate from a quiet spot at the train station.

* * *

><p>As she saw the outline of the Burrow, Hermione couldn't help the feeling of elation that filled her. She had come to associate the odd-looking house with happiness and could see what haven it could represent for Ron, even if he had decided to move to Twelve Grimmauld Place with Harry.<p>

Mrs. Weasley greeted them warmly with a tight hug, a hot cup of tea, and some freshly baked shortbread biscuits. Hermione found her in much better spirit than she had been two weeks ago when she had last seen her in St. Mungo's, even if there was that unmistakable latent sadness in the Weasley matriarch's warm hazel eyes. Hermione thought that it probably would never vanish and felt a rush of sympathy and affection for the woman who had become like a second mother for her.

"Hermione, dear, why do you look so sombre?" Mrs. Weasley interrupted her thoughts.

"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Weasley," she replied sheepishly.

"Molly, please. Have a biscuit. They're fresh from the oven," she invited as Hermione took one and saw Ron shove two whole ones in his mouth. "When are you going to see your parents?"

Hermione swallowed the piece of biscuit before replying:

"Tomorrow. Ron and I will have lunch with them."

"Will they be joining us for Christmas dinner?"

"I'm afraid not. They are flying to Jamaica for a holiday," Hermione answered truthfully. After a year spent in Australia, her parents had discovered that they enjoyed foreign locales and wanted to travel more. "They should be back for new year though."

"Wonderful, you'll have to invite them then."

"I most certainly will. They'll be delighted to see you and Mr. Weasley."

"That's sorted then. Well, I have a few things I need to finish before dinner. Why don't you four get comfortable," Molly said before leaving the room, using her wand to levitate in front of her a basket filled with dirty clothes that probably needed washing.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione chatted for a few minutes about Christmas plans, Hogwarts, Ron's speedy recovery, all obviously happy to see the rest of the group but also quite eager to be alone with only one other person. Ron finally feigned a yawn and stretched before saying:

"Well, I should help Hermione unpack before dinner."

He just rose and started levitating Hermione's trunk up the rickety stairs of the Burrow, toward what was for a few more days his orange room, and not seeing Ginny snigger knowingly or hearing Harry mutter under his breath "yeah, unpack." Hermione was behind him, carrying Crookshanks's kennel. Why she needed to bring the beast with them, he couldn't tell, but he knew how much she liked the squashed-face feline.

The minute they entered the room, Hermione noticed two things: Ron had made a significant effort to tidy it up and his hands were suddenly all over her the moment he closed the door and cast an imperturbable charm on it.

She was just as eager and let her small hands roam under the many layers of clothing he was wearing.

He was raining kisses all over her face, her eyelids, cheeks, nose, and lips.

"I've missed you," he panted, between two showers of butterfly light kisses.

"Me too, she replied as her hand went around his neck to bring him closer. "You are fully recovered, you said."

"Think so," he whispered in her ear before gently nibbling the lobe. "Except for the brain injury, but you already know about that, don't you?"

"Prove it," she dared him in her bossiest tone as she dropped the kennel with a very unhappy Crookshanks on the floor.

Ron lifted her and carried her over his shoulder as she screamed in delight and Crookshanks hissed madly in the confine of his kennel. Ron used his wand to put a silencing charm on the kennel, thinking there would be hell to pay for that later, from both cat and owner, but that would be later. He also used the wand to perform a quick contraceptive charm as he had a pretty good idea of what they were about to engage in.

He dropped Hermione on his bed, none too gently, and she bounced on the tired bed, eliciting more laughter. He covered her with his large and warm body, which unfortunately still wore too many clothes for her liking.

Her hands busied themselves with removing his jumper while his worked on the cardigan she was wearing. Their respective t-shirts and jeans were the next casualties of their eagerness. Then came their undergarments, the last obstacles to the full body contact they were both craving.

"I see your wrist is fully healed, even if you didn't write that much to me."

"You wrote enough for both of us... and were wicked for both of us," he added as his lips traced her collarbone. "You can't write letters like that to a bloke with a broken wrist, Hermione."

"Can't I?"

"Nuh uh. I had to use my left hand and I'm just not that good with my left hand."

"I beg to differ. Your left hand is just as good as your right one. How are you feeling now?"

"Randy," was his brief answer.

"Are you, now? Funny, I didn't see that," she answered as her hand moved from his left arse cheek to between them, gently teasing his throbbing erection."

He let out a groan.

"Is that some of the things you promised you'd do to me in your bloody letters?"

"Might be," she answered playfully.

"Fine, then, I'm still recovering. Why don't you take things ...in hand?" He invited her as he rolled off of her and on his back, offering her an unfettered view of his long, pale, and oh so enticing body.

"You just said you were fully recovered, not a minute ago" she tsk-tsked him gleefully as she climbed atop of him.

"Yeah, yeah..." he started and held his breath as he felt her mouth start a descent down his torso, to his navel, and down further to his very erect member.

"Fuck," was all he could manage as he felt her mouth enclose his length in hot and wet hold.

His hand tangled itself in her wild hair as she gently bobbed up and down his length, applying just the right amount of pressure to turn him into a completely incoherent man.

She let go of him and sat up, moving upward until she straddled him.

"Feeling better?" She asked cheekily.

He just nodded, any notion of spoken language now totally foreign. She lifted her hips and slowly impaled herself on his hard length eliciting a long moan that sounded like her name. She started at a slow, tortuous pace, savouring the feel of him in her, the look on his face. But it didn't take long before both their needs took over and she accelerated the pace, while his hands and lips went to touch every part of her skin they could. She rode him into complete oblivion.

He encircled her in his arms as she came down from her own peak and relished the closeness. A mix of exhaustion and exhilaration went through her as she lodged her head against the crook of his neck, just close enough for her lips to gently nib the tender skin of his neck.

"Was that enough proof I'm fully recovered," he asked her between two rapid breathes.

"I did all the work," she remarked. "But yes, I'd say it's enough. And I expect a payback," she added mischievously.

"Naughty girl!"

* * *

><p>The half-empty cup hit the saucer plate with a light clinking noise as Draco put it back and rose from the elegant if somewhat simple armchair he had been sitting on. He started pacing around the small room, pondering what his mother had just said. She wanted to go and visit her remaining sister. A sister she had not talked to in over twenty-five years, save for that brief encounter after the hearing.<p>

"Why would you want to visit Andromeda?" he addressed his mother, still perplexed.

"She was good friend with Greengrass. A fellow Mudblood lover, it seems."

For a reason he couldn't explain, Draco couldn't help cringing at this pronouncement. Hadn't Andromeda's husband perished during the war, his only crime having been born a Mudblood? He quickly pushed the thought out of his mind as Narcissa resumed.

"I'm sure she still maintains the relationship with Greengrass. Andromeda has her loyalties, even if not to her family."

"And you want to exploit the relationship to convince Greengrass to help us?"

"Yes," she confirmed his suspicions.

"And you think she's gonna welcome you with open arms when you haven't exchanged a word in over twenty years?"

"We'll have to work on that," Narcissa admitted "but until she went and married that Mudblood, she was my favourite sister."

Draco could detect a hint of regret in his mother's voice and didn't voice aloud his thought that anyone, even a troll, would qualify as favourite sister when the alternative was Bellatrix.

"The reason I'm asking is that I think Greengrass was the biggest prat there was. I don't think he'll help us make a donation. Mother, why don't you just make an anonymous donation, like Hogwarts, and be done with it?"

"Because that would make your father right," she sighed.

"Ha," he interjected as his mother's motives suddenly became crystal clear.

There was a brief silent pause between mother and son before Draco pursued:

"He owled me, after I left St. Mungo's."

"Did he?" she asked.

She had told Lucius about what had happened when he had asked her where she had been upon her return from St Mungo's, two days after she had left the Manor. She had seen the worry in his demeanour, the worry for what might have happened to her but also the worry that she might have decided to leave him and he would be all alone. Of course, he hadn't attempted to come and find her. Lucius had also inquired about Draco and this time, the worry had genuinely been just for his son, even if the father was still too proud and stubborn to admit it.

"Yeah, he did, wishing me a prompt recovery," Draco said. "Of course, he didn't bother with a visit," he added dejectedly as he absently rubbed the forearm where the dark mark had been branded.

Somehow the distance and remote treatment had hurt more than having no news from his father.

"Is he treating you well?" he suddenly asked his mother.

"Draco," she let out a tired sigh. "This is between him and me..."

"You're not happy, are you?" he interrupted.

"Your father is a different man these days. He's bitter..."

And she wasn't, Draco thought sarcastically.

"I know we'll work this out in the end."

"Do you, now?" he countered.

"Yes, and that's the end of this conversation," she added with finality. "So, to get back to Greengrass, we'll go and visit Andromeda. Will you help me?"

"Yes," he replied with conviction. "We don't want Father to be right, now, do we?"

His mother offered him a sad smile. This wasn't going to be an easy endeavour and Draco dared think it would take a lot more than gold to restore their name. Once again, he had to admit that the plan crafted by Granger was a clever one.

* * *

><p>Harry woke up slowly as the rays of the setting sun pierced through the window. He looked around slowly and reached for his glasses left on the bedside table. He turned back and saw the beautiful redhead sleeping quietly next to him, her face turned toward him and a wave of euphoria went through him as he remembered what they had just done.<p>

They hadn't planned this. At least, he hadn't. He wasn't so sure about Ginny. Like he would lie to himself and deny he was bloody happy right now to have a warm and naked Ginny Weasley in his bed, and he hoped, in his life to come. It felt real now, he could think of the future, his thoughts no longer encumbered by a sinister dark wizard.

He heard her moan something in her sleep and saw her roll over on her back, the sheet sliding down and revealing a very tempting pink nipple.

Harry couldn't believe what they had done. Well, yes, he could. It had been absolutely fantastic, despite, or maybe because of their inexperience. But there had been no regret, no hesitation as they had slowly undressed each other, as they had touched, caressed, tasted. He had had no bloody clue what he had been doing. But no, inexperience hadn't mattered. Things had come naturally, like flying once had, and while it had been short and had probably lacked technique or finesse, it had been sweet and tender and Harry was looking forward to doing it again, and again, and again.

It was the middle of the afternoon and it was just the two of them in the expanse of Grimmauld Place. He had wanted to show her the house where he was going to move in a few days and how much it had changed since she had spent Christmas there three years prior.

She had been delighted by the new look of the house and one thing had led to another and without planning it, they had ended on the bed, naked and sweaty and she had fallen asleep in his arms, bearing some resemblance to a very relaxed cat.

He knew Ron and Hermione were supposed to join them at some point as Ron was as eager as Harry had been to show her his new digs. Hermione would also have her real look at the house since they had fled from it after their break-in at the ministry.

He was lost in his thoughts when he heard the noise in the stairway. Before he had time to think, he had leapt out of bed, completely bare and wand at the ready. He tripped on one of the trainers he had quickly discarded in his haste to get undressed, and let out a yielp of pain as his knee hit the foot of the bed. He merely had time to stand back up before he saw the door being blasted open.

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, Hermione, your Dad wanted to kill me. He had the same look Crookshanks has each time he looks at me. And you know how your fucking beast'd love for me to be dead."<p>

"Not true, Crookshanks likes you."

"I could've been fooled," he replied dryly as he remembered the nasty scratch the cat had inflicted on him after having been under a silencing charm in his kennel.

"And Dad was only this way because you beat him four times in a row at chess. Dad has a little competitive side," Hermione pursued.

"You don't say!" Ron added sardonically.

"But he liked you, I could tell. Of course, you're the first boyfriend I've ever introduced." She said sheepishly. "And he's known you as my best friend for the last seven years, well six really since he didn't remember last year," she added with heavy guilt in her voice.

Hearing her still reel about what she had had to do to protect her parents took his attention away from his somewhat petty problems and focused him back on her instead.

"Hermione, you did it to protect them. You have to stop that guilt shite."

She could hear the genuine concern in his voice and bit her tongue not to tell him about how he could just take his own advice. She knew Ron had still not forgiven himself for leaving during the Horcrux hunt. She changed the subject instead.

"Here we are," she said as they approached the large house, visible to them only. "Are you sure it's safe?" she asked him.

The last time she had seen the house, she had been in the middle of Apparition and was trying to shake Yaxley away from her.

"Harry says so. He worked with Kingsley so I'd say yes."

"Isn't he supposed to meet us here with Ginny?"

"Yeah, that's the plan. Then we have to go and get Teddy from Andromeda. Ginny is all gaga about him. I don't get what it is about babies. I mean, they just spend their time eating, pooing, and crying."

"I see babysitting Teddy with Harry didn't go so well," she said humorously. "But I can't see what's the craze either. Maybe when we have one of our own, it'll be better," she said absently and felt him freeze next to her.

"You... you just said... 'we'," he whispered the last word.

A nice pink colour crept on her cheeks.

"You haven't thought of it?" she asked timidly.

"Yeah, I have," he admitted as he felt the top of his ears heat up. "It's mad, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. It's just I'm not quite ready right now."

"Well, me neither. But see the bright side, Hermione," he told her as he used his wand to unlock the door or Grimmauld Place, "we can spend some quality time practicing the making part," he said with a wink.

This earned him a swat on the shoulder and a small laugh. It died as she entered the renovated house and was suddenly awed by how dramatically Harry had changed the place.

"This is amazing," she said in wonder. "Harry really did a great job, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did," Ron agreed. "Speaking of Harry, I wonder where the wanker is. He should be waiting here with Ginny."

They started walking through the house, looking for Harry and Ginny. Ron felt anxiety rise in him as he went room by room and floor by floor. Still no sign of Harry and Ginny and Ron started seriously worrying. He saw in Hermione's face that she wasn't at ease either, her eyes darting rapidly from right to left and her body quite tense.

They finally reached the last floor and found the bedroom door locked. Ron was about to knock and call for Harry when he heard a loud yelp of pain. He didn't take the time to ponder about what he was doing and just blasted the door open with a flick of his wand. As the smoke cleared, Ron found himself wand to wand with Harry, a very naked Harry.

As he realised his mistake and wanted to burst into laughter at the incongruity of the situation, Ron heard Hermione:

"Would you mind covering up Harry," she said in a very embarrassed voice and Ron saw her averting her eyes.

He certainly didn't want her to see another man naked, even Harry, especially Harry. Yet, he couldn't hold the laughter any longer and let it out as he lowered his wand and Harry did the same:

"Mate, we've been looking for you all over. What are you doing here all naked? Fancied a wank in the afternoon?"

He heard Hermione groan at the pronouncement and a sleepy, extremely familiar voice ask:

"Harry, what's going on, Luv?"

Ron peeked beyond Harry and saw his sister in the bed, holding a sheet prudishly to hide her naked form. And it all made sense at once. He turned back to Harry, a murderous look in his eyes.

"What did you do to her?" he asked Harry coldly.

Hermione was saying Ron's name imploringly while pulling his arm rather forcefully, trying to get him toward the blasted door and out of the room. Ron didn't move and kept staring at Harry.

"I... We..." Harry stuttered, feeling afraid of Ron for the first time in his life.

"What does it look like, Ron?" Ginny asked as she came forward fearlessly and pointed an accusing finger at her brother. She had thankfully managed to put some knickers and a t-shirt on. "And before you say anything else, I'm of age and free to make this kind of decision. And frankly, that's none of your business," she said in a tone laden with finality.

Ron opened his mouth to say something and thought better of it. There was no need to row with Ginny as she had the bad habit to reach for her wand in these cases and he couldn't ignore how gifted his little sister was at the bat bogey hex. No, he would take that with Harry later, he decided as he finally followed Hermione out of the room.

She hadn't appreciated his not listening to her and was lecturing him on the way down the stairs.

"I can't believe you blasted that door, Ron. Couldn't you knock like a sensible person?"

What could he tell her? He had heard the scream of pain and had panicked, thinking Harry was in danger. It wasn't like his best mate wasn't routinely involved in dangerous situations, now was it? Could Hermione understand that? She probably could, he mused but she didn't seem inclined to listen to whatever explanation he might have. Nor did she seem to have any compassion for the fact he had found his little sister in bed with a man. All right, calling Harry a man might be a stretch when it came to love things, Ron thought somewhat pettily.

"She has a right to be with Harry, you know," Hermione went on as they got in the kitchen. "Why can't your brain accept that?"

"Search me," he replied in a tone indicating he was spoiling for a row. Rows were always a good way to vent out some frustration, especially good ones with Hermione. The girl knew how to fight and make it enjoyable. And there might be that extra benefit of make-up sex afterward. "I'm recovering from a bleeding brain injury," he added.

"Don't you dare joking about that, Ron Weasley," she said forcefully as she came closer to him and pointed an accusatory index at his chest. "And you didn't have a brain injury. It's just the way your brain's always been."

"And you love it, don't you?" he replied somewhat amused.

"That's beside the point. You owe them an apology."

"What? They owe me one. D'you have any idea how long that picture of Harry naked is gonna be stuck in here?" he asked her as his index pointed to his right temple.

He had the satisfaction to see her suppress a smile:

"Tell me about it," she answered in a laugh.

"What's so funny?" They heard Harry ask as he joined them in the kitchen, closely followed by Ginny.

Both were now fully dressed and everyone could have pretended nothing had happened if it wasn't for the steely glare that Ron threw at Harry.

"Right, we should go to Andromeda. She must be waiting for us," Harry said sheepishly.

And joining hands, they Disapparated toward the Tonks house.

* * *

><p>Draco was walking next to his mother, now much taller than her. They had agreed to go and visit Andromeda on Christmas Eve, thinking it might as good a time as any to try for some reconciliation. To tell the truth, he didn't particularly feel in a yuletide mood. He had never enjoyed Christmas as it had always been the time when he had to go home and endure his father's belittling for having lower marks than the Mudblood Granger. Merlin, the girl really had a history of making his life hell, even more than Potter and Weasley themselves. Actually the three of them really were a nuisance, he thought haughtily, trying to ignore the nagging little voice that told him they had saved his life three times now.<p>

"This is it," Narcissa said as they stopped in front of a modest house. Some might have called it inviting but Draco thought it was just plain and lacking in grandeur.

He stood by his mother as she used the knocker to make their presence known. They heard some voices inside and a ruffle as someone came to open the door. Draco was very surprised indeed to come face to face with Ron Weasley.

* * *

><p><strong>AN **_As I read a lot of Romione stories, I always see a lot of Harry interrupting stuff between his two best friends. I thought it would be fun to have the reverse for once. (That plot might be used in Harry/Ginny stories but I'll readily admit I haven't read tons of those.)_

_Thank you for reading and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated._


	14. Confrontation

**A/N **_My usual thanks to everyone who reads, alerts, favorites, or reviews this story. I know I slowed the pace of updates a bit (this pesky thing called real life and a job) but I am still committed to this story and seeing the love definitely boosts my energy to see it through, so thank you._

_This chapter picks up where the last one ended. I hope you enjoyed._

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: Confrontation<strong>

They Apparated just outside Andromeda's house. A simple albeit rather inviting house, it was neither odd-looking like the Burrow nor sombre like Grimmauld Place had been prior to Harry's renovation. It just looked... normal.

Secretly, Ron wished that would be the kind of home he could one day get for Hermione and him. Of course, he simply loved the Burrow but it was his family house, his parents' really, and he wanted something for just him and her, and maybe the babies she had mentioned earlier that evening. The thought brought a light pink colour to his ears and the start of a crooked smile on his face.

Harry used the heavy brass knocker on the door to alert Andromeda they had arrived. When the door opened a few moments later, Ron couldn't help the visceral reaction he had each time he saw Andromeda. While his brain knew it was Andromeda, Tonks' mother, Teddy's Gran and overall a very lovely witch, his first thought was always that Bellatrix had come back from the dead and that he should do his best to send her back.

That was until Andromeda smiled a welcoming albeit sad smile that failed to reach her eyes. Ron suspected that like his mother, Andromeda put a strong façade in public. Yet, behind closed doors and far from prying eyes, she would probably spend hours crying for the loved ones she had lost. Nonetheless, sad or not, the smile was there, and it illuminated Andromeda's features and brought kindness that would never have graced Bellatrix's face.

She greeted all four of them and invited them in the cosy sitting room.

"Where's Teddy?" Harry asked once they had all settled down on the comfortable sofa and armchairs.

"Down for a nap. Actually, I should probably wake him up. He hasn't been a happy lad. Teething," Andromeda explained apologetically.

"Poor little thing," Ginny said with sympathy. "Can Harry and I go and wake him up?"

"Certainly. Harry, you know where to go."

Harry nodded and took Ginny by the hand, under Ron's less than auspicious eyes. Ron was still ruminating over what Hermione and he had walked in on earlier that afternoon. Hermione was probably right (was she ever not right?) and Harry and Ginny deserved to be together that way too. It wasn't as if Ron couldn't fathom the closeness and happiness that resulted from this ancient and primal act of love.

As Harry and Ginny exited, Andromeda turned back toward Ron and Hermione.

"Why don't I get a kettle going? I could use some tea. You?"

"That'd be lovely," Hermione replied while Ron nodded. "Thank you."

Andromeda disappeared in her kitchen, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the sitting room.

There was a brief moment of silence before they heard a loud knock on the door. From the kitchen, they heard Andromeda:

"Ron, Hermione, would you mind getting that, please?"

"I'll get it," Ron answered as he rose from the sofa.

In the short hallway leading to the entrance door, Ron noticed the Sneakoscope on a small side table. He was aware of the extra protections afforded Andromeda's house, having heard some conversations at the Auror office and between his father and Kingsley. The Sneakoscope was just another reminder of how their lives had been permanently and irremediably changed by the events of the past few years. Ron was relieved to see the little object was perfectly still. Whoever was at the door didn't have nefast intentions.

As he unlocked the door and was met by the unappealing sight of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, Ron reconsidered whether the Sneakoscope was actually functioning properly.

Hermione, who had followed him by the door, looked equally surprised and displeased to see the mother and son.

"Malfoy?" Ron said softly. "Made a wrong turn and got lost?"

"What are you doing here?" Draco answered back, visibly as shocked to find his old nemesis there.

"Who is it?" they heard Andromeda ask as she came out of the kitchen, through the sitting room, to the short hallway.

As she recognised her sister, Andromeda froze in place:

"Cissy? What are you doing here?"

Narcissa took her sister in. While they had briefly met at the audience, she had made a point not to spend too much time looking at Andromeda then. But now, she could take the time. Andromeda still bore a striking resemblance to Bellatrix, with her dark hair and heavily-lidded eyes. The two older sisters had taken after the Black side while Narcissa had taken after her mother and the Rosier side. But Andromeda's hair was a softer brown colour, with some gray woven in it, and held in a simple and elegant bun, rather than flying around her face in a dishevelled way. Andromeda's eyes, while dark and heavily-lidded, were much kinder than Bella's had ever been. Yet, there was unmistakable steel in them as she looked at Narcissa and Draco.

"I need to talk," Narcissa finally told her, "privately."

"And what makes you think I want to listen?" Andromeda replied haughtily. She obviously wasn't pleased with the impromptu visit.

"I already have guests," continued Andromeda, while gesturing at Ron and Hermione, "who are welcome. You and your Death Eater progeny on the other hand, aren't."

Draco and Ron had both swiftly reached for their wand, Draco itching to aim it at the woman who so liberally insulted his mother and him, and Ron because he had anticipated Draco's reaction.

"I don't think that's a clever move, Malfoy," Ron told Draco in a low voice. "Why don't Mummy and you turn around and get back to whatever hell-hole you escaped from. You heard Andromeda, you aren't welcome here."

Draco glared at Ron with intensity and for a moment, it looked as if both were still on the edge of hexing the other. Narcissa broke the tension by gently rubbing her son's arm:

"Let it go, Draco."

"You should listen to your Mum," Ron continued, a shadow of a mirthless smile on his face.

Draco lowered his wand at his mother's request and Ron did the same although he kept his fingers tightly wrapped around the wooden stick. He had too much experience with Malfoy to ignore that the ferret liked to attack when his opponent was either already on the ground or with his back turned.

Seeing both wands lowered, Narcissa pursued her appeal to her sister.

"I understand why you'd feel this way. But all I'm asking for is five minutes of your time."

"Why, Cissy? I think we stopped having anything to talk about the day I married Ted and the entire family shunned me, including my supposedly closest sister."

"Andromeda, please," Narcissa finally begged.

She was remembering that her sister had a temper that flared quickly but that after the first outburst, she could talk reasonably.

"Just five minutes, please," Narcissa pleaded again.

Andromeda took a long look at her sister. She remembered the delicate little girl with long flowing blonde hair. The one who knew how to get what she wanted but never used force for it. That was how Cissy had differed from Bella. Where Bella had been bold and brazen, and unafraid of standing up to their father, Cissy had been quieter and had acted the part of the good daughter, never screaming or openly disobeying their father. She had actually had a way of wrapping their father around her finger, as the Muggles would say. Cygnus Black would have done anything for his precious little Cissy. There was at least one occasion when this skill of Cissy's had helped Andromeda tremendously. Besides, Cissy had never harmed anyone just for the pleasure of harming them, as Bella had done countless times.

And she, Andromeda, had been the middle child, not as pretty as either of her two sisters, not as bold and dominant as Bellatrix, not as adept at ruse and manipulation as Narcissa. She had just been a free spirit and had been left alone, the way she preferred to be, so long as she got good marks at Hogwarts. She wasn't delicate like Narcissa or constantly in detention like Bellatrix. No, she was just happy to be with a group of few friends, and Ted of course.

She hadn't told her parents about Ted until the end of their seventh year, probably because she knew they wouldn't approve of their daughter going out with a Muggle-born. That was the last time she had talked with her family.

Narcissa took her out of her reminiscence by pleading one more time:

"Andromeda, please."

"Very well," Andromeda said, making a snap decision. "But just five minutes. Follow me to the kitchen."

"Draco," Narcissa called softly.

"He can stay here. No need for him to come along if he's going to raise his wand at me again," Andromeda replied shortly.

Draco bit his tongue not to retort she was the one who had insulted him first. Surely, his mother would try again since she had asked that obviously stubborn sister of hers about five times for just five minutes of her time.

Draco saw a quick look pass between the two sisters, one that intimated that it was either a talk between the two women or no talk at all.

"I'll stay here," Draco said. "I'm sure Weasley and Granger are dying to have tea with me," he said sardonically while quickly glancing at Ron and Hermione who were standing by the door, silent witnesses to the bizarre exchange that had just taken place.

The two sisters walked out toward the kitchen, and Andromeda closed and sealed the door behind them. Draco was left alone with Ron and Hermione, neither one looking enthusiastic at being in his company.

"Are we going to stay in this hallway?" Draco asked haughtily.

"I don't see any reason to move," Ron answered nonchalantly. "Y'heard Andromeda, didn't you? Doesn't want you in her house. I can't blame her. I certainly wouldn't want you in mine either."

Draco was about to retort the feeling was reciprocated when he remembered what had happened at Malfoy Manor when Weasley and Granger had been unwitting guests. He swallowed the bile that rose in him, quickly attacking instead.

"And what are you doing here?" Draco asked. "Why do I have to keep seeing your face everywhere, Weasel?"

Ron took a deep breath and returned a cold smile. He knew Draco was baiting him, but he wasn't ready to bite:

"I might ask you the same, ferret."

"We came with Harry to fetch Teddy. Harry's his godfather," Hermione replied calmly.

"Ah right. You two can't go anywhere without St Potter."

As if on cue, Harry and Ginny, made their way in the narrow hallway, effectively crowding it. Ginny had a barely awake Teddy in her arms.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked with surprise and undisguised loathing.

"And here's our hero and well... is that his girlfriend? Potter is shagging your sister, Weasley? I suppose he's not the first one," Draco added with a condescending sneer.

He couldn't help it. His dislike for the four of them was deeply ingrained and seeing them together, so close, be it as siblings, friends, or lovers, only exacerbated his jealousy and feeling of inadequacy and loneliness. So he sought refuge in what he knew best, hurtful words and taunts. Yet he was keenly aware he stood no chance against the four of them (or even any of them individually) if they decided to go at him, which coincidentally, both Harry and Ron looked more than ready to do.

But it was Ginny who faced Draco, Teddy still gently settled in her arms and seemingly entranced by her red hair. She addressed Draco in a calm and clear voice:

"Obviously, who I choose to shag is none of your business, Malfoy. It's not as if you care, now, is it? 'Cause if it is, bad news: I prefer someone who actually has bollocks. And just in case, I'd like to remind you of what happened to that sorry face of yours when we got stuck in old toad face's office. Remember how well I perform the Bat Bogey hex. Well, I've learned a lot more in the past year. So just try me, just give me an excuse, go on..."

Under her composed demeanour, her eyes and body radiated cold fury.

Draco sneered again:

"And what makes you think I would have any interest in what any of the four of you does?"

"Good question, Malfoy, you brought it up after all," Harry replied, looking passably annoyed.

Draco was about to reply when Hermione raised her hand as a sign for everyone to keep quiet.

"Enough! I can't believe you just dropped by for a friendly family visit. What are you really doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione asked with perspicacity.

"To quote your friend Weasley here, none of your business, M... Granger," Draco replied curtly. He had almost called her a Mudblood but his face still remembered how much it had reeled from Weasley's punch last time he had done that in front of him.

"I think it has a lot to do with it, actually," Hermione replied, unfazed. "I think it has to do with our little deal, doesn't it?"

"Well, that's your problem, Granger, you think too much. Or maybe not enough, considering who you chose for a boyfriend."

Ron beamed as Hermione replied very seriously:

"Trust me, I made the right choice. But back to my question, if I hear that you and your mother are using Andromeda in any way to fulfil part of the deal you accepted..."

"Well, technically, I didn't accept anything," Draco countered.

"That's right," Ron said. "Mummy and Daddy made the decision without you. And wasn't it what just happened again right now? Not old enough for grownup conversation, Malfoy, are you?"

Draco glared at Ron with deep loathing. He had pinpointed exactly what hurt most. Did Weasley understand things better than Draco had given him credit for?

"Never mind that," Hermione cut them off. "If you use Andromeda, it will be breaking part of your deal. You can ask for her help, if she's willing to give it to you, but don't you even try to cross her.

Draco stared at her, casually ignoring her warning.

"I don't think we have to worry about that, Hermione," Ron said for Hermione's ear only. "Andromeda is one tough witch. She'll see through these two."

Hermione nodded imperceptibly. Looking at Draco, she finally said:

"We might as well wait in the sitting room."

She took Ron's hand and moved him along to sit close to her on the sofa. Ginny sat in an armchair, cooing to Teddy who seemed perfectly impervious to all the tension around him. Harry perched himself on the arm of the chair, looking adoringly at Ginny and Teddy. Gingerly, Draco followed them and sat himself in a green armchair covered with a hand knitted throw. As he took a look at Weasley and Granger huddled together, the perfect image of love and closeness, or Potter and the Weasley girl playing with the baby, he felt lonelier than he had ever been. He silently prayed that his mother wouldn't take more than five minutes.

* * *

><p>Narcissa looked at the simple and comfortable kitchen. There was a simmering tea pot on the table, along with a few cups on a tray and a a plate of shortbread bisciuts. Draco and she must have interrupted tea.<p>

Andromeda sat at the end of the table and motioned for Narcissa to take a seat nearby.

"Can I offer you some tea?"

"No, thank you," Narcissa declined.

"How are you doing?" Andromeda asked.

"I'm... fine," Narcissa said after a brief hesitation.

"Glad to hear that. And how's that scumbag you call a husband?"

Narcissa glowered at her sister before saying quietly:

"Lucius is all right, I suppose. He's changed. He's not the same man."

"Not that much, I'm certain," Andromeda replied sarcastically.

"He's not the same," Narcissa repeated vehemently. "It's like I've lost my husband."

"Well, well, well. I could almost feel sympathy for you, Cissy. But some of us have actually lost our husband. My Ted died because of people like Lucius. So forgive me, but I don't feel too inclined to have any sympathy. Is that why you came here? To talk about dear old Lucius?"

Narcissa took a deep breath.

"You know he would have been your husband."

"I haven't forgotten, Cissy," Andromeda replied in a much softer voice. "I know Father had chosen Lucius for me. But it worked better in the end, didn't it? You liked Lucius more than I ever could and he had the influence you were seeking, didn't he?"

"There's more to our marriage."

"I'm certain. Planning for our world to devolve into a pureblood-only society probably keeps you busy," Andromeda replied with coldness. "Yet, I do believe that in your twisted ways, you and that snake care for each other."

Narcissa glared at her, finding herself unexpectedly stung by the attack on Lucius. She went on the attack:

"And what did you find in your Mud... muggleborn husband?"

"Ted was funny. He made me laugh and was always there for me. And he loved me, for me, not my name or my fortune. Good thing actually given I never got any of that gold. It didn't matter. I had Ted and then Nymphadora," she said softly, reminiscing fondly before steel returned in her voice: "And now, they're gone. All gone. All I have left is Teddy. Why? Because of prejudiced witches and wizards like you and Lucius."

There was a pregnant pause before Narcissa finally launched:

"I married Lucius as a favour to you."

"You liked the snake, much more than I ever could. That and there's also the fact Lucius couldn't stand the sight of me and me of him. Don't tell me you regret it. I can't believe it was a sacrifice for you, Cissy. You always did things only if they benefitted you in the end."

"I also did for you," Narcissa said truthfully.

"Would you've done it if it had been anyone else than Lucius Malfoy? I somehow doubt that. Nonetheless, I haven't forgotten if that's what you want to hear."

"I'm glad you haven't," Narcissa replied, much more composed all of a sudden. "As it is I who now need to ask you a favour, albeit a much smaller one."

Andromeda lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"You are good friend with Castor Greengrass, aren't you?" Narcissa pursued.

"Why are you bringing Castor into this? He's not your type, Cissy. He's not pretentious or an arrogant vile man. He doesn't care about blood status, and while he isn't poor, he isn't wealthy either," Andromeda quipped sarcastically.

"But he has the ear of the board of governors of St Mungo's..."

"Go on," Andromeda demanded, suddenly curious as to why her estranged sister needed Castor's help.

"I want to make a contribution to the hospital, for ... personal reasons, and the board refused my contribution."

"Isn't it that they refused to associate your name with it, instead?" Andromeda corrected.

Narcissa looked deeply irked that the emotion of the conversation had left her completely transparent to Andromeda. But then, even as children, Andromeda had always seen right through her. Andromeda spoke again:

"I don't know why you think Castor would help you there. If you want your name to be associated with good things done for St Mungo's, it's going to take more than opening your well-endowed vault at Gringotts. Things have changed, Cissy."

"I realise that," Narcissa almost spat. "But I need to make this donation."

"Make it anonymously, then!"

"I can't," Narcissa answered in a small voice.

"And why is that?"

"There ... there's this plan that I have. A deal I made to help us. If I make the contribution anonymously, my plan won't work and Lucius will gloat."

"Why don't you just leave the old snake? Or do you still feel something for the bastard?"

Narcissa's downcast eyes gave the answer Andromeda was looking for. She gave a big sigh and decided to at least nudge her little sister in the right direction.

"I can talk with Castor. But it won't be to help you get a free pass and regain your name. You'll have to earn that."

"If it is what it takes, I'll manage," Narcissa answered sternly.

"Is that son of yours part of the deal?" Andromeda suddenly asked.

"Draco is on my side. He lives on his own now and isn't in speaking terms with his father at present. He's still only a boy but he's just seen so much," Narcissa added wistfully.

"You saved him," Andromeda simply stated.

For all her differences with Narcissa, Andromeda could relate to her as a mother. A lot of untold things passed between the sisters before Narcissa finally made a decision she should have made months ago. She seized Andromeda's hand tentatively and told her:

"I'm sorry for your daughter."

The concern in her voice was genuine, not just a means to an end, like the other things in their conversation had been.

Andromeda nodded lightly in acknowledgement, reminded again that behind all the scheming and manipulation, Narcissa could, on occasion, give a damn about people other than herself.

"I shall be on my way, then. I've used the five minutes," Narcissa said as she released her sister's hand and found her way toward the exit.

As they made their way toward the sitting room, they found Draco sitting quite uncomfortably in a solitary armchair, across from Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny. Teddy was in Ginny's arms, gently chewing on a toy, his hair changed to a vivid red to imitate Ginny's. Andromeda saw that despite a longing in Narcissa's eyes at seeing Ginny with the baby, Narcissa didn't get closer to the little boy she knew to be the son of a werewolf. Narcissa might have made a first step toward redemption but she still had many to take.

"Draco, we're done here," Narcissa said as her eyes switched over to her son.

Secretly relieved that the awkward visit was over, Draco rose silently and followed his mother toward the exit door without so much as a backward glance. Even though he understood why he had been excluded from the conversation between his aunt and his mother, the rejection still stung, especially as he had been forced to share space with Potter and his friends. There was a belligerent part of him that would like nothing better than to let his mother deal with the entire situation on her own. Narcissa seemed to know this and as he came close to her, she whispered for him only:

"I needed time alone with her. I think I got all I can from her. Let's go back to your flat and I'll explain."

Narcissa nodded her head imperceptibly toward Andromeda, while regally ignoring Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Teddy. She then grabbed Draco's hand as they made their way through the door. A faint popping noise soon was heard, indicating mother and son had Disapparated.

Andromeda went back to the sitting room, familiar duelling emotions about her sister rising in her. She was rather surprised to see Hermione rise and ask her:

"Andromeda, I don't want to pry, but might I ask you what favour they needed?"

"Why does it matter, Hermione?" Andromeda questioned back calmly.

"I... I don't trust them," Hermione replied.

"And for good reasons, I'm sure. I don't trust them either," Andromeda said truthfully. "But I also know Cissy, probably better than anyone beside that scumbag she calls a husband. She's manipulative, and will always make sure her interests are served first. She's also quite prejudiced. Unfortunately, I believe that's a common trait in my family," Andromeda added with self-deprecation. "However, Cissy can love. She certainly loves that son of hers, despite all the things you've mentioned about him. And Cissy never harms people when she can avoid it."

The thinly veiled reference to Bellatrix was lost on nobody.

"She wants to restore her name and her influence, things that matter to her. But I think part of her is starting to realise she'll have to earn rather than buy this. Cissy is clever. She usually knows when to make the right decision."

"Are you sure?" Ron pushed, remembering all too well how Narcissa hadn't hesitated to duel Harry and him and hadn't intervened when Hermione had been so callously tortured.

"Yes. Because it affects her, she'll do whatever it takes. I think she tried to use gold and it's not working so well, is it? So she'll try other things. Maybe she didn't come to this realisation on her own but something or someone has done it for her."

Both Harry and Ron turned imperceptibly toward Hermione.

"Whatever or whoever did it should be lauded," Andromeda said, having seen the unspoken message between the young ones in front of her. "Maybe there's a road to redemption for her, and I daresay, her son."

"Maybe," Harry mumbled, having forgotten neither Narcissa's rescuing him nor all the years of taunting and hatred by Draco. "I hope you're right."

"Well, now," Andromeda changed the topic, "Are the four of you going to be all right with a teething Teddy?"

"Yes," Harry said confidently as he looked at Ginny and Teddy with a look of adoration and longing that Ron didn't like to see in his best mate's eyes while looking at his sister and a baby. "Besides, we're going to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley'll be there too."

"Yes, Mum and Dad will be here," Ron emphasised, both a reassurance to Andromeda that Teddy would be well taken care of and a thinly veiled warning to Harry and Ginny to keep their activities in check.

"Fantastic. I'll see you tomorrow then. I'm excited to see what you've done with Aunt Walburga's house. I certainly hope you rid it of these awful elf heads," Andromeda replied drily.

She bade them good bye as they used her fireplace to make their way back to the Burrow with little Teddy in tow.

Andromeda turned back to her sitting room, now empty. She sat in the old armchair that used to be Ted's favourite, reaching in her dress pocket for a piece of parchment. It was a crude drawing of a cat, one Nymphadora had made when she had been five, and one Andromeda always carried on her person. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall freely.

* * *

><p><strong>AN **_I did say Andromeda would come back..._

_Thank you for reading and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated._


	15. Happy Christmas

**A/N **_I know it's been forever since the last update and I apologize. I rewrote this chapter about three times, not fully happy of how things were progressing, especially as I am thinking of future chapter and the development of the story. I finally settled on this version and I am actually liking how it flows._

_As always, thank you to everyone who follows this story and adds it to their favorite list, alerts on it or reviews it. You have no idea how my little heart soars when I read those._

_Without further ado, let's get in the Christmas spirit…_

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14: Happy Christmas<strong>

He heard her emit a low and soft moan that was close to a mewl, while her eyelids fluttered wildly and her nails dug into his shoulders, prompting him to forget about any current reality and to just plunge into a world of heat, pleasure, and Hermione.

Her breath came in short ragged bouts, while her brain slowly left the cocoon of her Ron-induced hedonistic trip. She opened her eyes to look at his pale face, a map of freckles and smug smile. His eyes were closed but she could see he was looking at her through a minute slit. His back and head were straight against the bed headboard while his warm chest was flushed with hers, their hearts beating a wild tattoo in unison.

She was sitting on him, their bodies still connected in that most intimate way, even as they were now spent and basking in the afterglow of their coupling.

Hermione spoke first, as her right index finger went to trace the edge of his collar bone, his usually smooth skin rendered slick with a sheen of sweat.

"Well, you were a wonderful guide for my tour of the renovated house. I did thoroughly enjoy the special visit of your bedroom," she added, straight-faced. "We probably should go downstairs to the party before people wonder whether we've been abducted by aliens."

"Come again. Aliens?"

"Never mind, Muggle joke."

He couldn't help the smile from blossoming on his face. He knew Hermione had a sense of humour but what she brought in these special intimate moments when it was just the two of them was a delightful surprise, one, he realised, he was the sole beneficiary of.

She rose, breaking the connection between them and reaching for her wand to clean both of them. She then walked around the room naked, swinging her hips in a very un-Hermione-like way in the process, and making him look appreciatively as he rose up from the bed.

"Have you seen my knickers?" she enquired.

"Oh yeah, many times," he replied deadpan as he put his boxer shorts back on.

Seeing her just glower at him inspired him to be creative:

"Accio knickers," he Summoned and Hermione's incredibly cute polka dot cotton knickers flew in his hand.

"Might keep this, you know, just as a souvenir..."

"Don't even think of it," she retorted as she snatched her belonging from his hand.

"Or maybe I should just try a Summoning charm while you're wearing them," he added in a dreamy tone.

"You're such a pervert, I swear."

"Anything for you," he winked at her and was rewarded by a laugh.

They dressed back in silence, comfortable in their complicity. As he put on the dress robes his mother had insisted he wore for Christmas at Grimmauld Place -and he would do anything that small that might contribute to his mother's happiness on that Christmas night-, Ron told Hermione pensively:

"It might look suspicious if we come back together, no?"

She bit her lower lip nervously as she pondered Ron's statement and her brain started working furiously on solving this conundrum.

"Right. Here's a plan... what's so funny?"

"You always have a plan," he told her charmingly.

"Oh shut up, Ron," she said with a half-smile. "So, I'll just go now and make sure to be discreet. Come back in five minutes. We were only gone..." she looked at her watch and sighed in disbelief "forty minutes."

"Well spent, if I say so," he added as she gave him a quick peck and left the room stealthily.

* * *

><p>Narcissa pushed the food around her plate, not having much of an appetite, and the noise of silver against fine china echoed loudly in the wide dining room. She really didn't care for pheasant. That was Lucius's favourite dish and she had ordered the kitchen to prepare it for their Christmas dinner. But like so often lately, Lucius seemed completely oblivious to the situation around him, lost instead that he was in the ghost of his lost glory.<p>

She chanced a look across the gleaming oak table large enough to sit twelve comfortably, the distance between their plates reflecting the one that had insinuated itself into their marriage, and saw Lucius looking back at her. The eyes she knew so well seemed to be assessing her, gauging what she might be thinking. He cleared his throat and asked her politely:

"So where were you yesterday?"

"I went to see Draco."

"Ha, I see. And how is he?"

"Well enough, I suppose," she replied noncommittally.

She had felt a certain moodiness in her son as she had left his flat, after explaining what had happened between her and Andromeda. Draco seemed so lost these days, so lonely.

"And that took you all afternoon?"

"We also went to see Andromeda. She still hates you, by the way," she admitted and heard the clatter of Lucius's fork hit the table as he dropped it, obviously shocked by the revelation.

"Let me assure you the feeling is reciprocated, Darling," he started sardonically. "But why would you ever go to see your blood-traitor sister. And why would you take Draco along? What are you playing at, Cissy?"

"Andromeda can assist us in a very peculiar way in restoring our place in society, since you seem to have no interest in doing so," she retorted shortly.

He didn't reply to that. Instead, he seized the elegant crystal decanter sitting in front of his plate and helped himself to a glass of the fine Burgundy wine it held, his third one by Narcissa's count. He took a sip and decided to change the topic abruptly.

"Thank you for ordering the pheasant, it's delicious."

She nodded subtly.

"I... I do have something for you," he told her, reaching in his robes pocket and drawing a small velvet etui.

He used his wand to Levitate it across the table. Narcissa had hoped he would at least rise and give her what was obviously a Christmas gift in person but he didn't seem to be inclined to do so.

She took the small pouch and opened it to reveal an exquisite bracelet of emeralds and diamonds. In other times, she would have been delighted by the present but it just made her feel hollow on that night.

"It's beautiful," she said in a voice as cold as the stones of the bracelet.

Lucius just didn't understand, did he? What she was yearning for wasn't expensive jewellery. What she needed was Lucius by her side, not arguing with her or treating her like a spoiled ice princess, but rather helping her in her endeavours. Yet the gift was just another highlight of the rift that had grown between them, a rift she wasn't sure anymore could ever be completely bridged.

She took her napkin to gently tap the corner of her mouth and rose from her chair. She told him from across the table:

"Have a good night, Lucius. I feel tired and will retire for the evening."

And on this, she exited the dining room slowly, leaving the bracelet untouched in its velvet casing, resting on the gleaming oak table.

* * *

><p>Ron had waited five minutes as he had agreed with Hermione, and made his way back to the large drawing room where the party was held. Harry had agreed to organise the Christmas dinner and party at Grimmauld Place. Officially, it was to introduce everyone to the newly renovated house. Unofficially, they all knew that Fred's absence would weigh enough on everyone's mind without having to look at an empty chair at the table at the Burrow and kill any Christmas spirit they might have, something Fred would have chastised all of them for.<p>

So, to commemorate their departed brother, all Weasley siblings had agreed to celebrate Christmas with just a bit of mischief, the way Fred would have, while making sure everything was done to keep their mother happy, especially after Percy had found her knitting the unmistakable blue jumper that would have been given to Fred. Even George, who, while seeming much better since he had started his relationship with Angelina, was still prone to bouts of depressions when he would spend days alone locked in his flat, even George had seemed in the spirit and had managed to capture a gnome from the garden at the Burrow and tie it in a pink ribbon before perching it atop the Christmas tree Harry had erected in the drawing room.

As for Ron, his bit of mischief had involved Hermione. Since their tour of the renovated house had been interrupted the previous day when they had unfortunately walked in on Harry and Ginny, Ron had decided that showing the house while it was bedecked in holly and festive garlands was certainly best. Hermione had been awed by the transformation and before they had known it, they had thoroughly tested the new bed he had bought with his first Auror's earnings and found themselves in the same situation Harry and Ginny had been the previous day, albeit with no one to interrupt them. Ron knew Ginny would call him a filthy hypocrite if she ever discovered this –and somehow, she probably would- but the memory of Hermione's warm body against his and this indescribable feeling of closeness and comfort had fixed a giddy smile on his face for the rest of the evening.

He scanned the room looking at his father, Bill, Fleur, Percy and his girlfriend Audrey, sitting at the table and having a conversation about Gringotts. His mother was standing by the cot where Teddy was peacefully asleep, talking with Andromeda and Neville's gran, probably about babies and all their wonders as the mothers they all were, or had been. With a pang, Ron realised that all three witches had faced the worst loss there was for a mother, yet they seemed to be all happy to coo after Teddy. Angelina and George were involuntarily dragged into the conversation as they walked nearby. Their relationship was obviously too new to even think about babies but it was clear Molly Weasley had already thought of it for them from seeing the reaction on Angelina and George's faces.

He saw Ginny and Charlie engaged in a conversation with the Lovegoods. Charlie looked blatantly dubious about some of the things said but kept smiling and nodding politely, eliciting some barely suppressed laughs from Ginny who was much more inured to the eccentric viewpoints held by Luna and her father. Charlie was also trying to stay away from his mother as she had threatened him with yet another haircut. Yes, it would seem almost like a normal Weasley Christmas, had it not been for Fred not being there.

Ron drew deeply from that promise he had made with his other siblings to be happy tonight when his eyes seemed to be automatically drawn toward her. It had only been a few minutes ago that they were bare and melded together but it always felt as if he hadn't seen her in months, so strong was his craving for her. She was standing on the opposite side of room, in a lively conversation with Neville, punctuated by small laughs between the two friends. He could have been jealous, probably would have been a year ago. But then again, a year ago, he had been away from her, having foolishly abandoned her and Harry. As the familiar guilt gnawed at him, he saw her look at him and smile lovingly in his direction before returning to her conversation with Neville. And like a powerful Patronus chasing a Dementor away, her smile swept the guilt away and filled Ron with glee.

"D'you fancy a Butterbeer?"

A giddy grin still plastered on his face, Ron turned suddenly toward Harry who was holding a mug of Butterbeer to him, his green eyes looking amused behind the spectacles.

"Thanks," Ron said as he gratefully accepted the drink and went back to look at Hermione.

"So, where did you and Hermione disappear? I couldn't find either one of you for the last hour."

"I took her on a tour of the house," Ron replied absently.

"Did you get lost?" Harry asked drily.

"It's a big house. We might have."

"I can't believe the pair of you. Honestly? Can you keep your hands off each other for more than ten minutes?"

"What can I say? Animal magnetism?" Ron jested smugly.

"Disgusting, you are."

"And you aren't? Running your hands and Merlin knows what else all over my baby sister?"

Ron's tone was half-joking, half-warning.

Harry looked at his best friend and decided it was time to set things straight, even if it cost him more courage than defeating Voldemort had.

"I knew you'd bring that up," Harry started calmly.

"Did you, now?"

"Ginny is seventeen, old enough to make this kind of decision, and so am I. Now, you may get used to it or you may keep your shit as over-protective brother but the thing is, it's not for you to decide or approve."

Harry saw Ron freeze for a second before bursting into laughter, irking Harry tremendously in the way.

"What's so funny?"

"You," Ron said between two breaths. "I know what Ginny means about preferring someone with bollocks. Trust me, you'll need them to be with her. She isn't meek, Ginny. And if she hears us talking like that about her, neither one of us will have any bollocks left tomorrow."

Harry looked at him intensely, not knowing what to say for a minute, thinking that Ron probably knew his sister very well. What could he say? The fact that Ginny was a strong person, not prone to tears and whinging, definitely was a very attractive part of her for Harry. Of course, there was also her small and lithe body, her sweet-smelling hair and these warm hazel eyes that could melt an iceberg...

George joined them, having surreptitiously escaped the maddening conversation about babies under the pretext of getting drinks for Angelina and him. He might have been in with his other siblings, agreeing that he would just celebrate life on that Christmas night –a tribute to Fred- and do everything in his power to keep his mother happy but he drew the line at discussing babies. He tucked his now shoulder-length hair behind his remaining ear, smiling mischievously as he took a look at Ron and the mug of Butterbeer he was holding, before reaching for it and just helping himself to his younger brother's drink.

"Oi, I was drinking that," Ron protested. "Get your own!"

"Yeah, yeah. I need that drink if I hear the word baby uttered one more time. Besides, what you were drinking, Ronniekins, was the lovely Miss Granger across the room."

"They did more than drinking tonight," Harry muttered under his breath.

George snorted a laugh, to the annoyance of Ron who decided to get even with Harry:

"Harry, why don't you just tell George about what _you_ were doing with Ginny yesterday afternoon?"

Ron knew Ginny would get back at him for that but Harry looked somewhat scared to have to face another Weasley brother.

"And what was that, Potter?" George asked and Harry noticed the change to his last name. "What are you doing with my sweet innocent little sister?"

"Who are you calling innocent?" Charlie chimed in as he joined the group, having had his fill of Crumple-Horned Snorkack stories.

Harry let out a groan of frustration.

"Ginny," George replied seriously as Charlie snorted a laugh.

"We're talking about our sister, right?"

"Well, seems Potter here was doing... things with her," George said in a tone hovering between mockery and disgust.

Harry knew he better had to get used to Ginny's six –five, he corrected himself sombrely– older brothers taking the piss. It didn't make the experience any less mortifying.

"Don't worry, Harry," Charlie finally said reassuringly. "You don't have to be afraid of us. Ginny, on the other hand..."

"Yeah, she really took after Mum on some things," Ron added.

"Speaking of Mum, I'd better go and rescue Angelina. Ginny's not the only one who can be scary," George excused himself as he left the group.

"Well, I think I'm going to leave soon too, I'm knackered," Charlie said, having travelled from Romania early that morning. "Thanks, Harry, for the party," he told Harry as he gave him a tap on the back. He then whispered Harry's ear, just loud enough for Ronto hear, next to them:

"If you ever hurt Ginny or break her heart again, well, let me tell you that what I'd do to you would make whatever plan Voldemort had for you look like tea at Madam Puddifoot's. Remember, I have access to dragons."

Charlie then let go of Harry, his smile intact while Harry swallowed audibly and Ron sniggered. Harry managed to regain his composure quickly enough as he saw Andromeda approach, Teddy in her arms. She went to Charlie first:

"Charlie, it was so nice seeing you again," she told him as she engulfed the young man in a tight hug. Charlie had been good friend with Nymphadora and was the Weasley she had known best before the last year.

"How are the dragons?"

"Fantastic, although nothing compared to Crumple-Horned Snorkacks if I believe Lovegood," Charlie added with humour.

"Well, Xeno Lovegood has always held some odd beliefs," Andromeda smiled back. "Although he wrote this excellent article about Lucius Malfoy in the Quibbler a few months ago. I told him so tonight."

Charlie nodded in agreement.

"Anyway, y'should bring Teddy to Romania when he's old enough," Charlie told her as he gently tickled the sleepy baby, and was rewarded by a grin.

"I'll think of that," Andromeda answered with another of her sad smiles.

"Well, it was nice seeing you, Mrs Tonks," Charlie said as he gave her a hug and went to bid good night to the rest of his family.

"Same here," Andromeda replied before she turned toward Harry as Hermione joined the group, having left Neville to speak with Ginny and the Lovegoods.

"I really like what you've done with the house, Harry. Sirius would have liked it," the older witch said. "And what did you ever do to Kreacher to turn him into such a nice elf?"

"Paying him," Ron said jokingly before saying more seriously under Hermione's glare: "Hermione helped us better understand him."

"You did well, Hermione. He never liked me, or Sirius for that matter, when we were children. But he was charming tonight. And I like that idea of paying him. Ted always said that the way house-elves were treated was just pathetic and a disgrace to wizardkind," she added reminiscing affectionately.

Hermione blushed lightly as Ron encircled her in his left arm and kissed the top of her head, blatantly proud of her.

"Andromeda, will Teddy and you come for Boxing day luncheon tomorrow?" Harry enquired.

"I'm afraid not. I have another commitment. Castor Greengrass, an old and dear friend, has invited me to his home for lunch."

As she said the name, Hermione's head perked up slightly but she remained quiet.

"All right then," Harry replied to Andromeda. "We'll see you and Teddy in a few days."

"You will," Andromeda replied visibly pleased by the prospect. "And speaking of Teddy, I think it's time for the pair of us to go back home. Thank you for the evening, Harry. It was nice seeing Molly and Arthur. Ron, Hermione, good bye."

She gave them a tight hug and made her way to the fireplace to Floo back to her house.

"Does Andromeda know Castor Greengrass?" Hermione asked the moment the green flames died.

"Obviously," Ron replied slightly confused. "She said he was an old and dear friend and she's having lunch at his place. Does it matter?"

"He's the head Potioneer of St Mungo's," Hermione replied as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"How do you know all that?" Ron asked her. "How does she know all these things," he repeated while addressing Harry who just shrugged his shoulders, appearing equally nonplussed.

"Greengrass is also a leading expert on Wolfsbane and has done much to protect victims of werewolves. He opposed Umbridge's anti-werewolf legislation four years ago, saying that many were victims who could treat their conditions with the proper potion and could function as normal wizards."

"Wait a minute, are you talking about Greengrass, as in Daphne Greengrass?" Ron asked sharply.

"I think he's her father," Hermione confirmed.

"Isn't he a Slytherin?"

"Most likely," Hermione replied.

"And he opposed anti-werewolf legislation?" Ron asked, bemused.

"Not all Slytherins are evil," Harry said, as his views on the subject had been altered by the battle and the discovery of Snape's true nature. "Look at Slughorn, Andromeda, even Snape."

"I s'pose," Ron replied still unconvinced. "So why does it matter so much, Hermione?"

"Well, there's more. Greengrass is also rumoured to have heavy influence on the St Mungo's Board. Don't you find it odd that Narcissa Malfoy, who's tried to make a donation to St Mungo's and hasn't succeeded, don't you find it odd that she would show up on her long estranged sister's doorstep, especially when said sister is good friend with one of the most influential persons at St Mungo's?"

"Are you saying the reason the bloody ferret and mummy visited Andromeda yesterday was to use her friendship with Greengrass to their advantage?" Ron asked, putting the pieces together.

"It would fit," Harry agreed. "She's really taking her part of the deal seriously, Narcissa is."

"I think it's more about restoring her name," Ron said perceptively. "But that's exactly what you had in mind with your plan, Hermione, wasn't it?"

While it wasn't as pronounced as it had been a few months ago, there was still an edge to his voice while talking about Hermione's plan.

"Yes," she replied, seemingly excited that her plan was actually functioning as she had intended. "I just hope Andromeda sees through Narcissa's intentions."

"Don't worry, Hermione," Harry told her reassuringly. "I think Andromeda is fully aware of what Narcissa is up to. And you did warn Draco yesterday, didn't you?"

"As if anything I've ever said would go through Draco's brain," Hermione muttered.

"I don't know," Harry said pensively. "He looked bad yesterday. He reminded me of sixth year."

"That's right, when you went into full Draco-obsession mode," Ron said pointedly. "For a while, I thought Ginny'd be jealous of all the attention you seemed to lavish on him."

"But I was right, wasn't I?" Harry defended himself as Ron just rolled his eyes. "Anyway, Draco just looks, I dunno, lonely."

"He's never done anything to endear himself to anyone," Ron pointed out.

"True," Harry acknowledged. "But it looks like some of this stuff is finally starting to hit him," he added pensively, now feeling more pity than loathing for his old nemesis.

He decided to change the subject as pitying Malfoy was just depressing. Besides, Harry still owed Ron for that very uncomfortable moment with George and Charlie.

"So, Hermione, Ron told me he took you on a very long and thorough tour of the house. How was it?"

Harry couldn't help grinning as he saw a crimson colour creep on Hermione's cheeks while she sputtered something about exquisite redecoration and reorganisation of space.

* * *

><p>"Your mouth, not your hands," Draco said demandingly to the young woman.<p>

"That'll cost you an extra five galleons.

"You've already charged me five extra galleons because it's sodding Christmas night. Are you trying to rob me? I could Imperius you, you know."

"A girl has to earn her living," the woman replied with cheek. "Besides, I wouldn't try to cast any unforgivable curse while your zip is opened and your dick out."

"How much more for you to shut up?"

"Just give me the gold."

He reached in his pocket and gave her five shiny coins."

"You better make this good."

She pocketed the coins and silently went to work on him and proved once more to him that she was good at her trade.

While he had liked in the past to be alone, comforted by his power to get company of lackeys or other inferiors when he needed it, he had felt incredibly lonely on that Christmas night and had decided to resort to the only company besides his mother's, he could get these days, the kind he had to pay for.

The girl, a slight blonde who might be a few years older than him and wore too much makeup, worked on him efficiently, soon making him forget everything else in the world as he reached a quick release. The girl swallowed quickly and let go of him with a loud pop. As he came down from his high, he quickly zipped his trousers and heard her say: "See you later, Blondie." before she took her wand out and Disapparated to he knew not where. He tried to ignore the emptiness that started seeping in himfelt hollow and even more lonely than he had an hour ago. The company, the close physical contact had been good but just an illusion in the end. He sighed and just Disapparated back to his flat, feeling more alone than he had that day.

Back in his flat, he removed his cloak and threw it carelessly across the back of an armchair. He picked up the box of chocolates his mother had owled him for Christmas as she had spent the day at Malfoy Manor. He felt resentful at that even if he knew his mother was still trying to save her marriage and at the same time, worried about how all her plans for restoring their names had gone pear-shaped.

And of course, they were still obligated toward that inane deal that Granger had crafted. Yet, he had to retrospectively agree with his mother that it had been the best option. Draco seriously doubted that his father's idea of buying his way out of Azkaban would have worked at all, especially not with Shacklebolt at the helm of the ministry and an army of Weasleys as his deputies.

While Draco was relieved to have avoided Azkaban (and some small, deeply-buried part of him was keenly aware that his actions during the war would have justified it), he still didn't like his current situation. He thought back of how he had seen Potter, Granger, Weasley and his sister yesterday, all tight together, how it had put into perspective that feeling that something was missing for him. Well, wasn't it their fault after all that he was alone? If Potter had never existed, the Dark Lord would never have returned and Draco's life would have remained the way it was. But here he was, lonely, powerless and hated by most, all because of Potter and his friends. Or was it something else?

Draco decided to push away the dark feelings eating at him, like he had so often, compartmentalising them neatly in a part of his heart and brain. He went to his bedroom and unturned his bed to start another night, alone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**_ Well, not everyone is having a good Christmas. The good news is that while agonizing for days on how to write this chapter, I wrote most of the following one as well, so it shouldn't be so long before the next one is up._

_Today is my birthday and I do mean to say that reviews make a perfect birthday gift (nudge nudge, wink wink)  
><em>


	16. The End of an Era

**A/N **_Another chapter, yeah! I was really ecstatic to see the reviews I got for last chapter. Best birthday present ever. I can't say it enough but thank you for the love. We, poor fanfiction writers, are only paid in reviews and let me tell you, they are like chocolate: making you feel all gooey inside and slightly addictive._

_I also wanted to explain a few things about the scene between Draco and the prostitute I included in last chapter. I know it was somewhat graphic (although quite tame compared to some other things I've read or even written) and probably disturbing because it wasn't an act of love. It was included as a counterbalance to the opening scene with Ron and Hermione (definitely an act of love) and also to show that Draco is trying to combat his loneliness with the physical closeness brought on by sex. Yet, he misses on the intimacy because, as the wonderful TenderHooligan put it, Draco has never known real intimacy._

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

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><p><strong>Chapter 16: The End of an Era<strong>

Andromeda arrived precisely at noon at the Greengrass residence, punctuality being one of the leftovers from her upbringing that she still deeply cared about. Her knock on the door was almost immediately answered by a house elf who was wearing a crisp uniform and whom Andromeda recognised as Letty.

"Hello, Letty. How are you doing?"

The little elf bowed. She was probably treated much better than the vast majority of house elves in old wizarding families but was still an elf, condemned to a lifetime of servitude. Slaves, Ted had called them.

"I'm well, Madam Tonks. May I take your cloak."

"Yes, thank you, Letty. Where are Mr. And Mrs. Greengrass?"

"In the study with Mistress Astoria. Follow me, please."

The little elf led Andromeda to the study where Castor and his wife, Eurydice, were engaged in a lively conversation with their younger daughter, involving NEWT's and choices of career after Hogwarts. Andromeda had to smile as the young Astoria waxed animated about how Divination was a complete load of rubbish while her mother scolded her for her language and casual dismissal of an ancient and noble art.

Andromeda remembered fondly having had similar conversations with Nymphadora during her sixth year. Of course, her own daughter had held no interest in a topic like Divination and had already been set on becoming an Auror. She was good at being an Auror, at least had been good, Andromeda amended sombrely as grief overwhelmed her, piercing like a white hot blade and instantly wiping the reminiscing smile off her face. She took a deep breath and composed herself, denying the depth of her emotions, another leftover from her upbringing and one she didn't necessarily care for.

She proceeded to cough delicately to announce her presence and saw the three Greengrass quiet at once.

"Oh, Andromeda, what a pleasure. Come on in," Eurydice invited her.

And the warmth in the other woman's embrace, coupled with her genuine welcoming smile, made it bearable for Andromeda to let her lips twitch upward.

"Hello, Eurydice. Thank you for having me," Andromeda said while returning the other witch's smile.

"Always happy to," Eurydice replied sincerely.

"Such a pleasure," Castor added as he engulfed her in a tight hug, visibly pleased at having his old Hogwarts friend over.

"Astoria," Andromeda greeted the youngest Greengrass. "How are you?"

"Spectacular," the younger woman answered petulantly. "Good to see you," she added more warmly. "What do you think of Divination?"

"Astoria, why don't you leave your questions for Andromeda for another time," Eurydice suggested. "Actually, I need some help with the last preparations for lunch. Letty can't do it all. Come on, Astoria."

The mother and daughter left the study, the latter one not so willingly and loudly complaining that she had absolutely no interest in cooking but would be happy to use an Incendio charm on the goose.

Castor shook his head disbelievingly but Andromeda noticed there was a small smile at the corner of his lips at his daughter's comments.

"Astoria seems to have a mind of her own," Andromeda murmured.

"Well, she obviously has no interest in fashion, cooking or housekeeping. As that is what Eurydice enjoys the most, they have a few... well, disagreements between them."

"I can imagine," Andromeda replied.

"She knows she wants to work after Hogwarts rather than just wait for a marriage proposal," Castor went on. "Can't say I blame her. The girl has a brain and should put it to good use," Castor said fondly. "And I think that Slytherin ambition will serve her well."

"No doubt about that," Andromeda answered with a brief smile.

"So, you said in your letter that there was something you needed to talk about. What is it, Andromeda?" Castor asked her bluntly.

"Well, it's a kind of favour, actually," she said somewhat hesitantly.

"Yes?" he asked her expectantly.

"It's about Cissy, my younger sister."

"Ah yes, Madam Malfoy. Saw her in the hospital two weeks ago after that brat she calls a son was brought in after the attack in Diagon Alley. He insulted one of my top potioneers. Are you sure you and she are related?"

"Positive. Remember Bellatrix Lestrange was also my sister," she added darkly.

"Oh, right. Well, you can't choose your relatives, can you?"

"Indeed. Well, as you may know, Cissy and her family have lost some of their prestige."

"Well, I don't think that's a problem, but please carry on."

"And Cissy is trying to salvage her name. I don't care whether she regains influence or not but I do care about how she goes about it."

"And?"

"And, I think you can use this to help her on the right path and above all, help the hospital. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think there was a real benefit for the hospital and for your special ward."

Castor snorted.

"Seriously, Andromeda? You think that your sister, who treats anyone who's not a pureblood fanatic as if they were lower than dragon dung, you think she'll help with my special ward?"

"Yes, she will," Andromeda replied with certainty. "I didn't say she would do it happily but I believe there's something weighing on her."

"Does it have anything to do with how she and that husband of hers escaped Azkaban after Potter saved their arse in the Wizengamot hearing?"

"I don't know exactly how much Harry is involved in that but I suspect he and his friends have something to do with it," Andromeda said as she remembered the odd looks that had passed between Harry, Ron, and Hermione after Narcissa had left her home. "Whatever it is, Cissy seems determined to do what she needs to do."

"Are you certain?"

"Quite. Few people know her like I do."

"You haven't talked to the woman in over twenty-five years, Andromeda."

"Actually, I have. She came to see me two days ago, which tells you how desperate she is. She thought you could help her and I could talk to you."

"She got that part right, didn't she?"

"Yes. But not all of it. If you help her make her donation to St Mungo's, do make sure she works hard for it."

"Your motive?"

Andromeda was quiet for a moment, reminiscing of the way Narcissa had so purposefully avoided looking at Teddy.

"Teddy," she simply replied. "Cissy wouldn't deign even looking at him. Don't get me wrong, Castor, I think there's still room for redemption or otherwise I wouldn't even suggest this. But Cissy still has a long way to go."

Castor absorbed the words Before saying in a more solemn voice:

"I'll give your sister a chance, Andromeda. But she'll have to seize it."

"Don't worry, I'm sure she will."

* * *

><p>"So, that's all you have?" Harry said as he took a look at all his best friend's possessions in the middle of his now bare orange room.<p>

"I reckon that's it. Just missing my Cleansweep but it's in the broom shed," Ron replied, shuddering slightly as he mentioned the shed.

"Fine, I'll get it," Harry replied, instinctively decrypting the shudder. "It's only a few spiders, you know."

"Beasts, I'm telling you."

Harry couldn't help laughing at the irony of Ron's arachnophobia. Ron, who had proven his seemingly endless bravery on too many occasions to count, was scared of a few spiders.

As Harry went down the stairs, Ron was left looking longingly at his room. He had spent so many nights there. It had been one of the only things that was his, and just his, and not a hand-me-down. Of course, it was just under the attic and had the ghoul as a permanent upstairs guest but it held so many of his memories.

He remembered hours spent playing with his siblings, especially the twins and Ginny, or escaping the pranks and teasing of said siblings. There had been the handful of times he had been sick and had stayed in the bed that was now too small for him, being pampered by his mother and secretly relishing the fact that he had had her undivided attention for once. And these walls had also witnessed all the conversations with Harry and Hermione about Hogwarts and the rise of Voldemort.

And then there had been that beautiful May afternoon, after Fred's funeral, when he had sought refuge in his orange lair to escape the grief that had had its claws so solidly planted into him. That was when Hermione had come to console him and they had found solace in each other's arms, making love for the first time.

It had been awkward, brief, and full of tears, of grief at first and then of happiness as, at long last, they had felt complete. And it had been beautiful, a precious memory just for the two of them. They had improved on their technique since then (there definitely were some positive sides to Hermione's innate determination to master everything new she learnt) but there was still that unique and treasured moment: their first time.

Yes, he would miss his childhood room but wasn't it fair to say that his childhood had ended long ago?

As he sighed deeply, contemplating the meagre pile of his belongings and wishing he could master undetectable extension charms the same way Hermione did, he heard the light footsteps in the stairs and recognised his sister by the way she almost ran up the stairs. He knew how everyone sounded on the stairs to his room, had memorised it early on as it was always a good thing to know when his mother might walk in on some activity she wouldn't sanction.

"What have you done with Harry?" Ginny asked him in lieu of a greeting. "I thought he was helping you."

"Don't you two get enough one on one time already?" Ron retorted before adding: "He went to fetch my broomstick."

"Don't tell me, the spiders are scary," Ginny taunted him.

"Shut it. You'd be scared too if Fred had transformed your teddy bear into a huge spider. Besides, they have too many eyes and legs."

"Not to mention the pincers," Ginny added gleefully as she saw Ron shudder in horror.

"Where's Hermione? I thought she was with you," Ron abruptly changed the subject, not wanting to even think about spiders.

"Oh, she'll be up in a minute. She got something in the post and was reading it," Ginny answered.

She took a sweeping look at his nearly empty room, save for the old bed, dresser and desk.

"So, you're really packing?"

"Well spotted, Ginny," Ron replied sardonically.

"It's just gonna be me here, with Mum and Dad," she noted in a small voice.

"Well, technically, you're at Hogwarts most of the time," Ron pointed out.

"I know. But I already got more than enough attention because I was the youngest and the only daughter. That's gonna be worse with you out."

"Are you saying I was actually helping you?" Ron said as he quirked an eyebrow.

"Don't be daft, Ron. You know Mum. She'll smother me now."

Ron knew and didn't want to tell his sister but he would have given anything up to two years ago to get the kind of attention Ginny had always been receiving from their mother.

"I don't think she will, Ginny," he said quietly.

While their mother had regained some of her feistiness and motherly protectiveness, part of her seemed to have been permanently altered after the battle. Ron knew that in the past, she would have put a bigger fight against his leaving but she seemed to have simply accepted it, as if it were part of life and she couldn't control it.

"Ginny?"

"Yeah?"

"Me and Harry, we'll come and visit several times a week. Harry's cooking is all right and we'll have Kreacher but nobody cooks as well as Mum," he told her in a tone that wanted to be joking but only partially hid that it would be out of concern for their mother.

Ginny understood but went with him on the joke:

"You and your stomach!"

She then added much more demurely:

"Thank you."

"What's that? Did my ears deceive me? My sister's actually thanking me for something."

"Sod off!" Ginny replied very inelegantly and Ron knew they were back to normal.

That's when Ron heard the footsteps he knew to be Hermione's: light and yet determined, with perfect cadence. She materialised in his doorway, holding a piece of parchment in her hand and looking both excited and bothered.

"I got an interview with the Head of the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," she announced.

"Is that the bloke you met at Slughorn's dinner?" Ginny asked while Ron's eyes stayed on Hermione as he heard the word 'bloke'.

"Yes. He's a holdover from the old ministry. He didn't do much during the war but Kingsley says he seems willing to work toward progress."

"Who is he?" Ron asked.

"Alan Hobbes. We exchanged a few words at Slughorn's party and it's obvious we don't share the same opinion on what is adequate legislation to protect house-elves."

"I don't think many old wizarding families do, to be honest," Ron told her bluntly and knew by seeing her knitting her eyebrows that it hadn't been what she wanted to hear, even if it was the absolute truth.

"And that's why they need someone like Hermione in this department," Ginny smoothed things out.

"So when is the interview?" Ron pursued.

"Tomorrow morning."

"It's the last day of the year. What wanker would schedule an interview on that day?" Ron asked.

"I asked for that," Hermione replied.

"Oh," was Ron's sheepish answer.

"I didn't want to be swarmed by an army of reporters or ministry workers," she explained. "I hope I can get the job..." she started.

"As if anyone would pass the chance of having you in their department," Ron said teasingly while refraining from rolling his eyes. "Let's see. You're absolutely brilliant, you received an Order of Merlin First Class for having defeated You-know-who, you know the Minister and you're best friend with Harry Potter. Of course, you'll get the offer," he said with absolute certitude.

"But..." she stammered, "there's the fact Hobbes is... well... how can I put this?"

"A complete arse, from what you've told me," Ginny offered.

"Yeah, there's that," Hermione admitted.

"So what? You'll just show him how to run his department, is all. Besides," he added in a much lower voice as his eyes roamed hungrily over her, "I've never seen you say no to a challenge."

It was blatant he wasn't talking at all about Hobbes or the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"D'you mind? I'm still here," Ginny said as she saw Hermione blush slightly under Ron's overtly sexual stare.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron said as he heard another set of footsteps up the stairs: spry, two stairs at once: Harry must have fought the army of spiders to get his broomstick from the shed.

* * *

><p>The pounding woke up Draco. The noise grew louder and more impatient and seemed to reverberate within his skull. He slowly opened his eyes, finding them gritty and his eyelids exceptionally heavy.<p>

He gingerly sat up while memories started to slowly flood his brain. After a depressing Christmas Day, when he had visited a whore for company and had been left feeling more lonely and inadequate than ever, things had gotten worse. He had received a visit from his mother on Boxing Day, when she had seemed distant and obviously preoccupied by something or someone other than him. After that, he just hadn't left his flat in three days, until the previous night when he had decided to go out, fed up with being alone.

He had gone to one of the seedy pubs on Knockturn Alley, one his mother would have been horrified to know about but where being a Malfoy was not a major criminal offence. Actually, nobody gave a rat's arse over there who he was or wasn't, especially if he had gold to pay for his Firewhiskey. And he remembered large quantities of the amber drink being consumed the previous night.

The pounding resumed on the door.

Shit, he really needed some sobriety potion.

"Draco, open this door at once or I'll Apparate inside," he heard his mother's clear voice.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he swore aloud to himself.

He really needed to clear his head. He got out of bed and reached for a green dressing gown that lay at the foot of his bed and left the room in a hurry. As he finished tying the belt around his pale body, he made a mental list of things he had to deal with: hangover and mother.

He opened the door to his mother who looked quite irritated.

"What took you so long?" she asked him as she walked into the flat and started removing the leather gloves she was wearing before unfastening her heavy cloak.

"Good morning to you too, Mother," he grumbled back as he tried to remember all the ingredients necessary for a sobriety potion. "Make yourself at home," he said drily as he disappeared into the kitchen and started rummaging through his cupboards for the items required for his potion making.

His mother finished removing her cloak before she followed him, her quick and resolute steps echoing on the hardwood floor, each click of her heels sounding like a gong in Draco's throbbing head.

"Morning?" she told him with exasperation. "Draco, it's past noon. Did you not get my owl last night?"

Draco turned around to face her, a mixing glass in his hand. He remembered an owl coming to him as he had tried to get into his flat, very tipsily. He had left the letter on a small table by the entrance.

"I didn't open it," he replied.

Narcissa got closer and wrinkled her nose in disgust as she picked up the smell of stale alcohol on her son. She took Draco's stubbly chin into a single and surprisingly strong hand, forcing him to look down at her:

"You've been drinking, Draco, haven't you?"

"What does it matter to you?" he lashed back and tried to ignore the clearly hurt look she gave him back.

"Draco," she sighed. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? Preparing a sobriety potion."

He then abruptly changed the subject, remembering she had mentioned a letter.

"What was in your letter? Did father stop being an arse?"

"Don't talk about your father like that," she scolded him.

"Oh, now, you're defending him."

"Draco, stop this at once. I'm here because we're supposed to be at St Mungo's in fifteen minutes. You'd have found that out if you had taken the time to open and read my letter."

He groaned.

"Fifteen minutes?"

"That should leave you enough time to finish that sobriety potion and get yourself presentable."

"Why are we going there? I don't really fancy the place."

"Castor Greengrass. My dear sister made good and got us an appointment with him."

"I see," Draco interjected before stirring the potion one more time and swallowing the content with obvious disgust. He hadn't been able to find ginger, which would have given the mix a much more pleasant taste and prevented the light blue tinge that would now affect his eyeballs for the rest of the day.

Still, it took care of his hangover and made his brain sharp again. Now, he just had to deal with his mother and get ready for that St. Mungo's visit.

He made his way to the bathroom, turning the water on for a quick shower to rid him from the smell that still clung to him after a night spent in a squalid pub. He then attacked his stubble with a magic razor that had been a gift from his father and was a bit ornate for his taste as it sported a handle with an embossed snake that had emeralds for eyes. Still, it did an impeccable and prompt job of giving himsmooth skin. A quick brushing of his teeth and combing of his hair were the last steps before he declared himself ready.

He found his mother sitting on his sofa, reading the Daily Prophet.

"I see you got yourself presentable," she said mildly without taking her eyes away from the paper. "Well, it's time we went to our appointment," she finally told him.

* * *

><p>Hermione was led into a small office in the bowels of the ministry. The Being Division of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was obviously not the department commanding the most attention in this post-war shake up. Hobbes rose and extended his hand to her. He was middle-aged, average height and build, with short blond hair and dull, watery brown eyes. There was nothing striking or remarkable about him, and from what Kingsley had said, neither was there about his record. Hobbes seemed content keeping status quo and getting his department running as inconspicuously as possible.<p>

"Miss Granger, a pleasure to see you again," he said in a voice that, like the rest of him, was neither strong nor memorable. "Please have a seat," he invited her.

She took the chair he was pointing to while murmuring a polite thank you.

"So, I invited you here because you expressed an interest in working in my department when we spoke at Horace's party. Might I ask what prompted this interest?"

She swallowed and cleared her throat, feeling slightly nervous, and started explaining how her interest had been piqued during Buckbeak's trial, and had only grown with her founding of SPEW and being more exposed to the shabby treatment received by many magical creatures at the hands of wizards.

"And why would you want to change all this? Pardon me, but as you're still rather new to our culture, being Muggle-born, I don't think you fully grasp that the model we currently have, the agreements we hold with the magical creatures, well, they work."

"They work?" Hermione retorted, visibly flabbergasted by his denial of the blatant truth while ignoring his thinly veiled insult.

Her outburst seemed to surprise him. He raised a hand in front of her and said midly:

"Now, Miss Granger, of course they do. We have a registry for Werewolves and we haven't had a war with the Goblins or the Centaurs in years."

Hermione wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his comments. Not having a war was his definition of things working well? As the assessment of Hobbes by Ginny came back to her, Hermione decided to swallow her laugh and move on.

"Very well, Mr Hobbes, I see that we have nothing else to talk about then," she said as she prepared to rise from her chair.

"Not at all, Miss Granger. Our department still could use your services."

"How?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, we have an opening for junior case worker. Minister Shacklebolt seemed to extoll your virtues. We need someone with your cleverness to work on some of these cases."

Somehow, something in his tone sounded fake. She quickly connected the dots: having a close personal friend of the Minister would bring some clout to his division and therefore to him.

Wasn't it what Ron had told her would happen? No-one would miss the opportunity to work with Hermione Granger, war heroine and personal friend to not only Shacklebolt but also Harry Potter. When had Ron become so perceptive? And then she remembered Ron's other words: "you've never been one to say no to a challenge."

And she made her decision in a snap.

"Well, if you can wait until August to fill your position, I would be delighted to take it."

Hobbes smiled like a cat who had caught a mouse, likely unaware Hermione could clearly see beyond his ill-affixed façade, and extended his hand to seal the deal.

"Excellent, Miss Granger. I will owl you the details later this afternoon, including salary and other boring things. I look forward to working with you," he told her in his unremarkable voice.

"Likewise," she lied back as she rose to shake his limp hand before walking to the door of his small office. At least, she looked forward to being able to do something more about house elves and other magical creatures. After all, there were times when starting small was good, she thought and for some reason, the image of a red-haired boy with dirt on his nose seemed to insinuate itself in her head.

* * *

><p>St. Mungo's was quiet that day, except for a few incidents related to poorly enchanted Christmas tree ornaments or cooking charms gone awry. Castor enjoyed that week as it was a quiet time when he could dedicate himself to work on his latest paper for Potions Quarterly and at the same time escape the incessant rows between his wife and their two teenage daughters. He loved the three of them dearly but they drove him mad on a regular basis.<p>

He took the picture that sat on his desk of Daphne and Astoria together. The two sisters got along well enough, despite their differences both in appearance and temperament. A classic beauty, Daphne sported long straight brown hair, soft hazel eyes, and milky-white complexion, all inherited from her mother, and was content just lounging around the house now that she had finished Hogwarts (and what a terrible year that last one had been at Hogwarts), learning from her mother how to be a perfect host and potential future wife, waiting to be spoiled by her doting husband.

Astoria, on the othe hand, was more like him: on the shorter side, with wavy brown hair she wore to her shoulders, petulant blue eyes, and a few freckles parsed on her nose that she did her best to hide. Astoria had never been happy just lounging around or waiting to be swept into marriage. A strong-minded girl, she often argued with her mother and had been chided on many occasions for her extreme bluntness. Yet, she was clever, and both extremely resourceful and ambitious. Eurydice tried to raise her like a proper witch but it was obvious his younger daughter had other ideas in mind. And he had encouraged it, immersing her in potion books and his work at St Mungo's from the sixth birthday.

Castor smiled affectionately at his beloved daughters as he put the frame back on the desk. He then heard the light knock on his door and automatically checked the clock on the wall: two o'clock sharp. Maybe Andromeda's sister was also a stickler for punctuality, he mused. He hoped he would be able to pull this out. If Andromeda was right, there definitely was a great opportunity for the ward.

He went to open the door and saw both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. A quick glance at the mother and son pair told him the former was slightly nervous and the latter was recovering from a hangover. Sobriety potion always left this light blue tinge around the iris that only the most expert potioneers could usually pick up. Of course, the most expert potioneers would know to add ginger to prevent this undesirable side-effect.

"Mrs Malfoy, Mr Malfoy," he greeted them neutrally. "Please come in and have a seat."

They did as they were told and Castor went straight to the point, not seeing any need to waste time in preambles.

"Andromeda believes we can help each other. As you seem to already know, she's a dear friend, whose opinion I highly value."

Narcissa returned a polite smile but was internally pleased that her assessment had been spot on.

"So, this is the offer I have for you. I have a ward in this hospital that is quite dear to my heart. It tends to victims of werewolves' attacks. Some of the patients have lycanthropy themselves although we treat them with Wolfsbane potion to mitigate the effects during their transformation. I've been working on finding a stronger version of the potion that would ward off thevtransformation as well. The ward however, needs volunteers to dispense medication and spend time with patients. After all, some of them are only children and have been deeply traumatised."

Understanding quickly dawned on Narcissa. Andromeda had kept her word to use her influence with Castor Greengrass but but had made sure there were many strings attached. Werewolves. With a small smile, Narcissa silently acknowledged her sister's clever manipulation. There was no doubt Andromeda still had some Black blood running in her veins.

Draco pulled her out of her thoughts as he plainly asked Greengrass:

"Are you suggesting we spend our time looking after werewolves?"

"Not at all, Mr. Malfoy. Merely victims. They need care and human companionship. Are you able to provide either?" Greengrass asked with obvious scepticism.

"Of course," Narcissa replied, sounding deeply offended.

Draco looked at his mother disbelievingly, remembering all too well the look of repulsion she had cast upon Lupin's son.

Narcissa paused briefly before saying in a composed and cold voice:

"I do expect that you also bring something to the table, Mr Greengrass. That is, after all, the definition of mutual."

Castor shook his head and smiled sadly:

"Andromeda was clear you wouldn't do this out of the goodness of your heart. I promise I will get to that."

"Now would be a good time," Draco interjected.

Castor glared at him. While he wasn't tall or physically impressive, his steely stare quieted Draco.

"I want to take you on a visit first."

Not waiting for their reply, he rose and signed them to follow him. They went through the corridors and lifts of St Mungo's until they reached the floor for magical maladies. They went through a heavy double door and entered a ward that  
>bore bright colours and was decorated with drawings of dragons, hippogriffs and other magical creatures.<p>

"Hello, Elsie," Castor said kindly to a girl who couldn't be older than nine.

She hid behind a heavy dresser and her head just came out, giving a tentative smile back to Castor, but there was no sound emiting from her.

"She hasn't talked since she was brought here," Castor explained. "She was brought by Aurors just before the end of the war. She was left for dead but survived after we took care of her. The rest of her family, on the other hand... they were savagely killed, her parents and a brother. The Aurors believed it was Greyback. A lot of the patients here were unfortunate to cross his path."

Castor turned around to look at his guests and was mildly surprised not to find disdain and repulsion but a sheer look of horror on Draco's ashen face and, even if more aptly covered, on Narcissa's. Maybe Andromeda had been correct and there was room for redemption after all.

They finished their tour, uncovering more scars that the many atrocities of the war had left behind, and finally made their way back to Castor's office. Castor went to sit behind his desk and Narcissa took the chair she had previously occupied. Draco, however, decided to stand and peruse what looked like a stellar collection of potion books rivalling the one his grandfather had left for him in the flat.

Castor resumed the conversation:

"As you can see, I need all the help I can get. As you may guess, it's not always easy finding volunteers for this ward, no matter that they are all victims."

Narcissa cleared her throat daintily before asking bluntly:

"If, and that's a big if, we decide to help with your wand, what would you offer in exchange?"

"Obviously, you don't need gold," Castor said with barely suppressed sarcasm. "My eternal gratitude and the reward of knowing that you've helped," Castor offered, somewhat amused the Malfoys would ever consider his offer. Andromeda was right, her sister must be rather desperate.

"And?" Narcissa pursued, fighting to keep her annoyance in check.

"Very well, I gather that knowing you've done some good in this world won't be enough. I understand you are seeking some recognition from the Board if you make a donation to St Mungo's. While I can't promise I can sway all members of the Board, I certainly have some clout and will be able to use the great volunteer work you'll've done here as an example that your heart is in the right place and that it is absolutely not about restoring some of your former glory," he said drily. He pursued on a more serious tone: "I think I've told you before, Madam Malfoy, but your action will have to earn that, not your gold. I'm giving you the chance. It's really up to you. I only need someone three days a week and you'll have he week of the full moon off."

Draco thought the idea to be utterly ludicrous. Yes, he had promised he would help his mother but he drew the line at babysitting werewolves. A look at his mother, however, told him she was seriously considering the offer and made him wonder how far his mother would go to regain her name.

"We will think of it," Narcissa finally replied.

"Naturally," Castor replied in a jovial tone.

"We will let you know in a few days. Thank you for your time," she told him as she rose and went toward the door, not taking the time to shake Castor's hand on the way out.

While his mother couldn't exit fast enough, Draco stayed a bit behind, closing a very good potion book and trying to jam it back on an already crammed shelf.

"These are fascinating potion books," Castor told him.

Draco remained silent.

"Just a tip. While you seem more than adept at making a strong and efficient sobriety potion, you just need to add some..."

"Ginger, I know," Draco cut him off. "I just didn't have any."

"Is that so?"

Castor stared at Draco with curiosity. While a complete brat, it was the second time the younger Malfoy surprised him with a more than adequate knowledge of potions.

"Have you ever thought of a career in Potions, Mr Malfoy?"

"Is that an offer?" Draco replied haughtily.

"Let's say that it could hinge on your answer about caring for patients in my ward. The first impression I got of you wasn't flattering and it hasn't really improved. However, I detect an affinity for potions," Castor replied calmly. "I would have more time to evaluate your full potential if you volunteered for my ward. Just think of it, Mr Malfoy."

He didn't let Draco a chance to answer as he said a final "good bye" and closed the door of his office in Draco's bemused face.

* * *

><p>When she came back to the Burrow, Hermione was delighted to find her parents there, engaged in a very lively discussion with Mr Weasley who seemed excessively interested in dentistry. Mr Weasley had gone to fetch them from the Muggle part of Ottery St Cathpole, blatantly exhilarated to have two Muggles to talk to. Mr Granger seemed just as excited, having never set foot in a wizard home before and asking about the architecture of the Burrow and how it held together while defying basic laws of physics.<p>

She greeted both parents affectionately and decided to let them continue their conversation with Mr Weasley as each party seemed enrapt by what the other had to say.

She didn't have to go far before she bumped into Ron and Harry in the kitchen, tasked by Mrs. Weasley, it seemed, with peeling a mountain of potatoes for the new year's eve dinner. The chore was made a rather easy one by the use of their wand.

"I suppose we are getting som potatoes for dinner tonight," Hermione said as she wipped her wand out and started assisting Ron and Harry.

"Great insight," Ron replied sardonically. "Your inner eye told you?"

She had to smile at the old joke.

"How was your interview?" Ron asked her seriously.

"Yeah, Hermione, how did it go?" Harry added.

"Well, I got the job but Hobbes is still a complete," she stopped, seeking the appropriate word that wouldn't be too crude.

"An arse?" Ron offered.

"I suppose it's the proper word," Hermione finally agreed with a small smile. "In his opinion, all is well for magical creatures."

"Well, you'll have to make him an honorary member of SPEW to educate him," Harry cheeked.

"It's S.P.E.W." Ron spelled out for Harry with mock offence while he used his wand to neatly dice a potato.

Hermione swatted at both.

"Don't worry, love, you'll be brilliant," Ron told her sincerely. "And in any case, you can always use persuasion," he added jokingly as he rubbed his arm with his wand hand and sent some potatoes flying around the kitchen.

Hermione quickly stopped them with one swish of her wand and returned them to the heap on the table while the three of them shared a laugh.

As they were laughing, an owl was heard at the window. Ron went to retrieve the letter attached to its foot.

"It's for you, Love," he told Hermione as he handed her the missive. "I never noticed before but the initials of the Department for the Regulation And Control Of Magical Creatures nearly spells Draco M. You sure you want to work there?"

"Actually, even more now. I think it will be great leverage for S.P.E.W and against the Malfoys."

Ron groaned at this pronouncement.

"Don't go ruining the afternoon by mentioning the wankers!"

"Well, there's still parts of our deal that they haven't fulfilled and I intend to remind them about house elves when I start working at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"I'm sure you'll be brilliant," Harry told her.

"Of course she'll be," Ron said as he kissed the top of her head. "She's Hermione."

* * *

><p>"You really want to do this?" Draco asked his mother incredulously as they entered his flat.<p>

"Think of it, Draco. It can't be that hard. It's only three days a week. This has a major potential. We will be helping a renowned St Mungo's wizard save orphans. What do you think could be better for our reputation? We may not even have to give gold in the end."

"Yes, I suppose," he replied evasively. Had his mother missed the fact that many of the patients in the ward were half beasts?

"This will open doors, Draco. Let's face it, our former acquaintances aren't exactly talking to us right now and are not really useful either at the moment."

"And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Father has helped send half of them to Azkaban," Draco said sarcastically.

"Would you rather they had sent us to Azkaban?"

His silence was answer enough.

"Just think of it, Draco," she asked him again as she kissed his cheek to bid him good-bye.

"You're going back?" he asked her, sounding like a disappointed little boy.

"Yes," she sighed, hoping the new year's eve dinner would be a better affair than Christmas dinner had been. But she had made a decision to at least try a little more before giving up on her marriage.

"Why don't you join us?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Draco replied shortly.

She tenderly stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

"Don't do anything stupid, Draco. Don't do anything you'll regret. Promise me."

He saw the concern in her eyes as he muttered in a barely audible voice:

"I think it's too late for that."

She left, still looking worried and he remained standing in his sitting room. He stayed there for a while, his thoughts racing in his head as he pondered the events of the day. While he had no desire to work with werewolves, he couldn't help circling back to what Greengrass had told him about working with potions.

He didn't leave his flat that night, instead having a simple dinner and a glass of butterbeer to celebrate the end of a year that would probably be remembered as the worst of his life. As the clock started chiming away the twelve strokes of midnight, he began hearing some celebratory noise in the street and he hoped with all his might that this new year would turn out much better for him. Maybe that proposition from Greengrass wasn't that insane after all.

* * *

><p>As Arthur Weasley rose and raised his glass, everyone in the crowded Burrow sitting room followed suit. An unusual silence settled over the cosy room as he cleared his throat.<p>

"We have a few moments before we enter the new year, a few moments for us to remember what came to be this year before we embark on a new one. We saw victory, the end of a war, and relationships rekindle," he nodded toward Ginny and Harry, and other ones bloom," he looked both at Ron and Hermione. "We saw losses too," he said in a voice cracking under the weight of emotion as he turned toward his wife standing next to him and saw her dab the corner of her eyes. "But nothing was for naught. Let's take this time to honour the memories of the loved fallen ones, especially our son."

A chorus of "Fred" followed and everyone drunk solemnly. Molly wasn't the only one with misty eyes.

A few moments later, as the clock started chiming out the stroke of midnight, Ron bent down to kiss Hermione, a chaste peck on her lips (her father was across the table after all) to celebrate a new year, pregnant with promises of better things to come than had been offered by the ending year.

He felt her smile under his kiss and tasted on her soft lips the inhabitual taste of the Champagne her father had brought as a gift. He knew that whatever this new year might bring, he would be up to the challenge for he had Hermione finally where she had always belonged: in his arms.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:** First, I am so sorry it took so long to update but I find I sometimes need the time to rewrite entire scenes and polish things around. It's probably not going to improve in the near future as I am trying to juggle a full time job, an upcoming trip and trying to buy a new house. Anyway, this chapter was important in setting up some future developments._

_Second, I want to give credit where it's due. The acronym DRaCo Mc is not mine. I borrowed it from Northumbrian, whom by the way is a fantastic author. Please check his profile and stories when you have time. He has especially written a very sweet little Ron/Hermione one shot called Conversations._

_Finally, I know it's not my birthday anymore (I certainly don't need another one so soon) but I still enjoy reviews a lot.;p_


	17. Of Marmalade and Potions

**A/N**_ What? No, I'm not dead. I just took a long vacation and it seems the muse stayed longer than me on vacation. But here I am back with another chapter._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter and everyone who reads this story. _

_This chapter offers a little jump forward and brings a cameo from a well-known character. Read on for more…_

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17: Of Marmalade and Potions<strong>

Her lips tasted of the orange marmalade she had just eaten, highlighted by an accent of the coffee she had just drunk. As they left his, depriving them from their pillowy softness and leaving him feeling slightly bereft, he mused that the coffee, which bitter taste he usually loathed, tasted heavenly on her tongue and that he would have no objection spending the next hour with their lips, or other parts of their body, continuously connected. He felt her chuckle lightly as their faces slowly moved apart:

"Ron, I do need to get to work. I don't want to be late as Hobbes doesn't need any fodder for his campaign against me."

She had started work at the ministry only three weeks before but had already seen enough to know Hobbes would never see eye-to-eye with her when it came to what constituted proper treatment and protection of other magical beings. She had expected he would be a challenge, just as Ron had predicted, so she hadn't been surprised when Hobbes had assigned her the most mundane cases he could find, given she was only a junior case worker. Yet, it didn't make the situation any less frustrating. Ron was very aware of that fact as she tended to vent to Harry and him, well, especially him.

It had also been two months since she had finished Hogwarts and moved in at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron. It somehow reminded Hermione of the month they had spent in the house at the beginning of their Horcrux hunt, albeit it was a much less stressful time as they hadn't been tasked with a nearly impossible mission this time.

The friendship that existed amongst the three of them made it easy to live together and the space the house afforded gave them enough privacy when one –or two– of them craved or needed it. Hermione was thankful for her own room even if she didn't spend much time there and had yet to sleep in it, preferring instead Ron's bed, always much more inviting in her opinion but she kept it as a nice place to host her "bleeding library" as Ron had called it while he had helped her unpack her endless collection of books.

She heard Ron give a small sigh while one hand went to stroke her face tenderly and the other rested just below her waist, flirting dangerously with her bum and bringing her impossibly closer to him and that wonderful minty scent of his. He told her playfully:

"And I thought we'd have time for a little parting gift. It could be quick, y'know," he added in a low and suggestive voice.

He always knew how to brighten her mood. She snorted happily:

"While this is very tempting," she smiled beguilingly at him, "I'll take a rain check."

She saw the disappointment undo the smile that had been so bright a second ago, like a little child who had been given a sweet and had it taken away. There was an endearing quality to this she usually couldn't resist and he was aware of it, sometimes using it to his advantage, as she suspected he currently was.

"And don't go all puppy-eyed on me," she added while struggling to maintain a straight face.

"Worth a try," he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing slightly against her lobe, an untold promise of much more to come if she'd just agree to it. Her brain was telling her there was no time, even for something brief, while her body seemed to be alight with desire at his mere touch. It cost her a great effort but she found her voice:

"I'll tell you what, I'll see you for lunch," she started and saw his smile widen as she tangled a small hand in his jumper and brought his face back down to hers. "Leaky Cauldron. Noon. Here's something to remember me by until then," she said in a barely audible voice before crushing her lips on his in a very intense kiss.

* * *

><p>Draco was following the hand of Elworth as she swished her wand and murmured incantations. The brew that had required painstakingly measuring, mixing, and waiting changed to a vivid red before smoke started billowing from it. He would never admit it to her but Elworth was adept at making potions even if she remained a complete pain in the arse.<p>

"Want to try the last step?" she asked him.

Hufflepuffs. They couldn't help the friendly demeanour.

Draco wordlessly raised his hazel wand above the cauldron and performed the nonverbal spell and final flick that stopped the smoke and turned the solution a silvery grey.

It was a small step –Elworth, or Greengrass for that matter, made sure he was never fully in charge of brewing a batch of Wolfsbane or left unsupervised while making potions– yet, he felt quite happy with himself. He hadn't known that last step of Wolfsbane potion-making nearly nine months ago when he had decided to take Greengrass on his offer as the clock had chimed down the new year.

Over the last few months, Draco had discovered he actually enjoyed potion-making and the surprisingly addictive sense of purpose it offered. Of course, the down side was that he had also accepted to work in the ward. He really didn't relish the company of the half-werewolves who dwelled there but was able to remove himself enough from that situation, and not think of who they were, or worse, what had happened to them, while he read the Tales of Beedle the Bard to the younger ones for the tenth time in a week or administered the proper healing methods to alleviate the wounds some still carried and that could never be completely healed.

The potion was giving one last bubbling when Draco heard someone down the hallway leading to the exiguous room where all the potions were brewed. Castor Greengrass soon materialised and took an appreciative look at the resting silver-coloured potion. Draco noticed the girl standing behind him, vaguely recognising Daphne's younger sister, and, as some resemblances were striking, Castor Greengrass's undeniable daughter.

"Ah, that looks like a nice batch. Well done, Elworth, well done," Castor beamed as he acknowledged his protégée.

Draco seethed in place. He had helped but the old tosser seemed completely indifferent to that fact.

"Did Malfoy help?" Castor asked Elworth in a tone that might have belied the fact that Draco was standing next to them.

"The last part, Sir."

Castor turned to face Draco.

"Well done, Malfoy. You and Elworth have brewed what looks like a perfect batch of Wolfsbane. Now, would you care leaving us alone? Elworth and I need to talk about something."

Draco scowled at the easy dismissal, like he was an insignificant worm, but nonetheless made to leave the potion room. Before he had reached the door, Castor asked in a much gentler voice:

"You too, Astoria dear."

As he went through the door, thinking he might try to find his mother and bid her goodbye before he left, Draco heard some protest coming from the youngest Greengrass. Yet, in the end, she seemed to obey her father's request and quickly fell in step next to him. Draco chose to ignore her. Contact with one Greengrass was plenty already and he didn't need to talk to what looked like a bratty girl, even if part of him had to admit she was striking in her own way, with her piercing blue eyes and full lips a natural dark red.

"I wonder what Papa and Elworth need to talk about. What say you, Malfoy?" she asked him.

He didn't reply, fully intent on pretending she wasn't there.

"I see, keeping up with your standards of insufferable haughtiness. I'm Astoria, by the way. I don't think we ever got properly introduced, Malfoy," she continued.

Couldn't she just shut up? He decided to carry on with silence, hoping she would finally get the message. Besides, the door to the ward where he expected his mother might still be was now within sight.

"All right, Papa has deemed you a complete arse, albeit one with some affinity for potion-making, but a complete arse nonetheless. I usually like to make my own opinion but I might be inclined to believe he's right. I hate it when Papa is right and he tends to always be. Right, that is."

He stopped, wanting to be rid of the annoying girl who seemed to suffer from a severe case of logorrhoea.

"Don't you ever shut up?"

"Rarely. Drives my mother mad."

"Wonder why," Draco retorted drily.

"Anything I do drives her mad. That's the fun part of it. But what are you doing here?"

"Trying to pretend you're not here," Draco replied sarcastically.

"You wouldn't be the first," she replied in a tone that should have been sad but was instead boasting confidence.

He was taken aback.

"I don't care what people think or say," she simply stated. "Otherwise, I obviously wouldn't be talking with you. Why are you here, working for Papa?"

"Papa? You call your father Papa?"

"Old family tradition. What do you call yours?"

"I don't call him these days," Draco replied mirthlessly.

While his mother was making tremendous efforts to put the pieces of her marriage back together with his father, Draco hadn't talked to Lucius in months.

"I'm sorry," Astoria replied with genuine empathy. "But to get back to my question, why do you work for Papa?"

While he had met the girl before during his time at Hogwarts, he had never talked to her before, which given the incessant flow that came out of her mouth, was probably a good thing. Yet, she was asking him all kinds of personal questions that she had absolutely no business asking; questions that for some unknown reasons resonated. Why was he working for Greengrass? Certainly, there was the wretched deal dreamed up by Granger, Potter, and Weasley and that forced him to "volunteer" to work with the half-beasts. But there was nothing pushing him into brewing potions. He just enjoyed that part and the small satisfactions it brought.

"I like brewing potions, he replied tersely.

"Papa says you're gifted."

"Really?" he asked half-surprised, half-pleased.

Was he grateful to the old tosser? Certainly not. Greengrass was just exploiting him, having noticed his innate talent for potion-making. And Draco suspected that under the guise of helping the victims of werewolves, Greengrass was above all trying to advance his own name by using them to further his research on Wolfsbane. There was no telling of how many riches and how much fame awaited the man who would discover a more potent potion than Wolfsbane.

"Really," she confirmed. "Well, this is it for me. I need to go to Diagon Alley to purchase some supplies for school. I'm going back next week. Don't know yet what I want to do after Hogwarts, besides not being like Mum. I like what Papa does but I don't think potions is my thing. I don't know. Anyway, I'll be back during school holidays. See you around, Malfoy."

And just like this, she Disapparated with a faint popping noise, leaving Draco somewhat bemused about what had just happened as he pushed the door to the ward, still in the hope he would find his mother.

He was surprised to find someone else in the war. Part of the deal with Greengrass was that there should be nobody else at the same time as Draco and his mother. There was no need to advertise their association with half-beasts, at least not yet, according to Narcissa. This would come in due time, when their name would reclaim the prestige due to it if everything went according to Narcissa's plans. They would also be done with their share of the mad deal made with Potter and friends. Maybe his mother was right and it was a path to a more rewarding life, Draco thought sarcastically.

The woman standing in the ward was vaguely familiar. As she was roughly his age, Draco surmised she must have been at school with him. As he thought of Hogwarts, pieces began clicking in place and recognition finally bloomed in him. He remembered her from her very public displays of affection with Weasley in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, back in their sixth year.

Of course, seeing Weasley and Granger not talk to one another had been a highlight in his otherwise dreadful sixth year. Yet, he couldn't fully place the woman's name besides remembering she had been Weasley's girlfriend.

He took a long look at her. She was wearing an overly frilly look just as she had in school and despite the scars she still bore from her encounter with Greyback, he supposed some would call her pretty. Not him of course. He would never call a former or present girlfriend of Weasley's pretty. Not the obnoxious bubbly blonde in front of him and neither the insufferable know-it-all Granger. How could Weasley bed the Mudblood, Draco wondered in mocking amusement. It wasn't just that she was a Mudblood –Weasley being a Weasley would obviously not object to sinking so low– but she was also a plain girl with no redeeming quality, who constantly talked and had the ghastliest hair this side of Castor Greengrass. Draco was amused by his own pettiness until it suddenly hit him that at least Weasley didn't have to resort to the services of a prostitute. That wiped his sneering smile away.

The light cough made him jump in place. He had been lost in his meandering thoughts and had almost forgotten about the blonde woman standing in front of him.

"Malfoy?" she asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

Her voice was high-pitched and held a sugary quality, grating against his ears.

"None of your business."

She got closer to him and while much shorter than him, she stood firmly planted in front of him.

"You know, Malfoy, I survived the battle of Hogwarts and a werewolf attack in the same day so a little doubled-faced twat like you certainly doesn't scare me. I also know how to use a wand so you might want to be careful about how you go about talking to me."

She had said it in her girly voice but steel had joined honey during this pronouncement.

"I volunteer here," he finally replied. "What are you doing here?"

She looked at him curiously, trying to assess how much veracity his answer held before finally replying.

"I also volunteer here one day a week, usually on Thursdays. Funny, I've never seen you here before."

"By choice," he answered curtly. "But we're Tuesday. What are you doing here..."

"Lavender, Lavender Brown," she completed for him, fully aware he probably didn't remember her name. "I like being with the children here and I think they like me," she said as she turned toward a small group of children playing in the ward and smiled warmly at them. "And today is Elsie's birthday so even though we're Tuesday, I brought her a gift."

Elsie? His eyes followed the direction taken by Lavender's and stopped on that poor excuse for a kid, the skittish one who constantly hid behind furniture and never talked. Maybe it would have been easier if the girl had never been born. There would have been no birthday and no massacre of her family in front of her, Draco told himself as he felt his hands get clammy at the thought of what had brought many of the kids to the ward, something he usually put aside. After all, there was nothing in the deal with Greengrass about caring. Yet, he couldn't help the constricting of his throat so he decided to abridge his encounter with Lavender Brown.

He nodded slightly in her direction and left the ward, abandoning any effort to find his mother. He had had enough encounters with nagging women for one day.

* * *

><p>Hermione looked at her watch as she pushed the heavy door to the Being Division, still smiling beatifically. It was two minutes before nine. While Ron and she had not gone further than snogging after her promise to meet for lunch, it had been a long and thorough session, which had left her all hot and bothered and looking forward to seeing him again.<p>

She had barely put her satchel down on the pitiful excuse for a desk she had been given when she heard Hobbes come behind her.

"Miss Granger, good morning. Had a late start this morning?"

She had to refrain rolling her eyes at the unjustified comment and instead just replied:

"Good morning, Mr Hobbes. Is there a new case I can help you with?"

"No. I wanted to talk about the McHenry case, Miss Granger. The report you wrote seems to imply the elf is innocent of theft."

"It's quite blatant he is, sir. The kind of magic that was used can only be performed by a wand. While elves possess their own brand of magic, they are not capable of the spell that was used to steal the jewellery in question. "

"Is that so?"

Was the man that ignorant of elf magic or was he just playing dumb? How had he been made Head of the Being Division of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures when he didn't even understand the most basic differences between elves and wizards? How had he stayed in place under four different ministers?

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered tersely.

"So you recommend further investigation instead and the elf be released."

"Yes sir," repeated Hermione.

Hobbes was silent for a moment, staring at her in disbelief.

"Miss Granger, you realize the necklace was later found and that the McHenrys are a very influent family. We can't risk offending them."

It was her turn to stare at Hobbes in disbelief, incredulous of how low he would go to keep the status quo. She decided to use the card she had kept up her sleeve.

"Yes, Kingsley thinks that their influence, or rather affluence, has helped them out of many dicey situations. However, he concurred with me that the elf was innocent and was actually framed."

She saw Hobbes blanch as she subtly reminded him she had the ear of the Minister of Magic. She hated to have to resort to such base tactics as name-dropping, something she associated with Dolores Umbridge or Draco Malfoy, but if it meant an elf wouldn't go unjustly accused of a crime he was innocent of and might even get justice for being framed, then it was well worth it.

"If Minister Shacklebolt thinks so, then it's a different affair," Hobbes finally said in an abrupt about-face that clearly explained to Hermione how he had withstood through four ministers of magic.

Arse kissing, Ron had called it, putting in a much less eloquent form what Arthur Weasley had passed along about what he knew of Hobbes. Somehow, Hermione doubted Kingsley would put up with this kind of behaviour but on the list of things Kingsley still had to deal with well a year into rebuilding the ministry, Hobbes probably ranked low in priority. She could help bring out this change. She could help the Being Division run in an efficient and fair manner.

As Hobbes left the room, he missed the determination set on Hermione's face as she started leafing through old files she had singled out because of similarities with the current case. The road to help house elves was going to be arduous but she was up to the challenge.

* * *

><p>"G'morning," Ron announced jubilantly as he took a seat behind the small desk he had been assigned as an Auror in training.<p>

"I left thirty minutes ago," Harry said and Hermione and you were finishing breakfast. What in hell took you so long to Apparate here," Harry asked grouchily as Ron's giddiness just threw into sharp relief how much he missed Ginny, currently in her second week of a two-month-tour with the Harpies.

Ron smiled even wider as he said nonchalantly:

"I made a detour by Flourish and Blotts to get a birthday present for Hermione."

That was true. He had spent a grand total of five minutes at the book shop, picking up a book he had selected the previous week. Ron felt he didn't need to add to Harry's sour disposition by telling him he had spent a good twenty minutes in an intense snogging session with Hermione. The remaining five minutes had been spent thinking of unappealing things and people to help bring down the intense hard-on he had been left with as a result of said snogging session.

"I hope she'll enjoy it," Ron added, suddenly slightly unsure of himself. There were still some mornings when he pinched himself as he woke up next to Hermione.

"I s'ppose it's a book," Harry asked as Ron nodded silently.

"Ron, we're talking of a book and coming from you. Of course she will," Harry continued with absolute certainty and a side of eye-rolling.

Neville was chuckling behind his desk as he watched the exchange.

"What's the book about?"

"History of house elves," Ron said.

"Yeah, she'll like it," Neville reaffirmed. "Even I know that and she isn't even my girlfriend. Well, I don't have one of those anymore, do I?"

While he could have been bitter about that fact, Neville actually sounded cheerful in his newly found singlehood. Truth was he actually felt secretly relieved that he and Luna had come to the same conclusion that they were much better as friends, best friends actually, with a lot of affection and respect for one another, than as boyfriend and girlfriend. After they had mutually agreed it was better this way, Luna had taken off on a tour of Europe to look for magical beasts, the first step in her chosen career of naturalist. While they wrote often to each other, he still found he missed her sometimes, the same way he knew Harry missed Ginny.

"Neville, no offence, but I really don't need you to come to work with the same smile as Ron every morning," Harry replied with humour.

Their laughter was soon interrupted.

"Potter, Weasley, Longbottom," a strong voice bellowed in the cavernous room where the Aurors in training had their desks. "I need you to go help Higgins. He's in Kent. Situation under control, so I can send my Aurors in training. Higgins says it's not pretty, though," Nelson, the newly appointed Head of the Auror department told them as he gave the three of them a piece of parchment with the location and high level details of the case.

"On our way," Harry said, always the instinctive leader.

The three young men Disapparated with a faint popping noise and appeared just outside a vast house in the more rural part of Kent.

While Ron was still working once a week with George at the shop, he spent the rest of his time as an Auror in training, where, along with Harry and Neville, he was quickly rising. The Auror department, severely depleted during the war, still worked on catching dark wizards who, while not initiated in Voldemort's inner circle of Death eaters, were quite supportive of the blood purity ideas espoused by the defunct wizard. The department still kept its Aurors busy with the everyday variety of evil that existed when people let their darker side take over.

Ron, Harry, and Neville walked toward a handsome mansion, which front door was opened by Higgins, one of the few veteran Aurors who was left. The older man signed them to follow him.

"Warning, lads, it's 'bit disturbing."

They entered a large study that was decorated very tastefully with expensive furniture and its walls were covered in light green silk with rose accents and splattered blood. In the middle of the floor lay a human shape. From the size of it and the light pink colour of the dress and protruding shoes, Ron deduced it must have been a woman.

Carefully, all three approached the body and understanding dawned at once as they got near. The woman was lying on her back, her eyes open and yet unseeing. The front of her dress and her upper body bore deep lacerations, as if she had been attacked by a bear, or a werewolf, Ron thought as he felt a wave of nausea rise in him. He turned around and willed the awful sensation to go away while Neville seemed to be unable to do so and just retched next to his shoes.

"Sorry," he apologized to Ron as he whipped his wand out to quickly vanish the sick.

"All right, Longbottom?" Higgins asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Neville answered in a cough.

"Good. So you must be wondering why I brought you to this mess. I just want you to tell me what you observe," Higgins invited.

"She looks like she was attacked by a werewolf," Neville offered.

"But it's not the full moon," Harry objected.

"Exactly. Potter. What else?"

Ron had bent down to look closer at the victim.

"The edges of the lacerations are too clean to be werewolf-made. It looks like someone wants to cover up"

"Excellent, Weasley."

Neville crouched down next to Ron. He still looked somewhat green but was able to take a closer look.

"It looks like wand work," he noticed.

"Who found her?" Harry asked. "And who is she?"

"She's Jocasta Jameson, forty-two, wife of Edward Jameson, who is on travel and came back this morning after we reached him. She was found by her house elf. The elf is in the room next door, quite upset."

"Did you bring us here because you think this isn't a random attack at all?" Ron enquired.

"Yes, Weasley. And the three of you give me some hope for the future of the Auror Department. Longbottom, what do you think happened?"

Neville cleared his throat:

"I think it was staged. Whoever killed her knew her and is trying to pass it onto a werewolf."

"What did the elf say happened?"Harry asked.

"She says her mistress was attacked by a werewolf who broke into the house but that elf is quite shaken."

"But you know elves are almost condemned to do their master bidding," Ron noticed with a certain disgust. "Hermione always says so. So if her master told her to say there was a werewolf attack, that's what she'll say. It's sick, really."

"So, that points out to Jameson as the actual attacker?" Neville commented.

"We need proof, but yes, that was my first instinct," Higgins agreed.

"Wait a moment," Ron said as he noticed something at the corner of the mouth of Jocasta Jameson. Look at the green tint by her mouth. Isn't that a sign of poisoning?"

Higgins bent down to take a closer look at what Ron was pointing.

"Good eye, Weasley," he congratulated Ron emphatically. "I didn't see this. That brings even more to the column against Jameson. Well, the cleanup crew will come here and bring this place back to order. She," he pointed to Jocasta," will be brought to St Mungo's morgue so a potioneer can look at that green hue.

"Erm, Sir?"

"Yes, Weasley?"

"I know a spell that can give us an idea of what she ate. If we figure out what she ate, maybe we can figure out what poison was used."

Higgins eyed Ron with obvious surprise and delight. Harry looked at Ron with astonishment, not remembering having seen this spell in their Auror training.

"Where did you get this?" he asked Ron in a mumble.

"Hermione showed me."

"Figures," Harry smiled as Ron performed the charm while a quill wrote the ingredients on a piece of parchment.

"I like the way you think, Weasley," Higgins told him. "The three of you will help me with this case. Why don't you three start putting your heads together and think of how we're going to solve this? I'll see you later this afternoon." he dismissed the three of them.

As they prepared to Disapparate, Higgins tapped on Ron's shoulder.

"That Hermione, is that Hermione Granger?"

"Yeah," Ron said with a slow smile.

"She your girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Ron repeated as the smile grew.

"Lucky you. Keep her."

"Trust me, I'm not going anywhere and neither is she."

They came back to the Auror office where they started a discussion on what they had seen. Harry spoke first:

"I wonder what I can find on that Jameson."

"I can help you look," Neville offered. "I first can go to Gran. For some reason, she seems to know all the gossip on all the old rich families in and around London."

"All right. What about you, Ron?"

"I have an idea," Ron said pensively while looking at the photograph of the victim, which was oddly still. "I reckon I need to go to the Auror library to find more about what poison to make with the ingredients we have listed here," he said while showing the piece of parchment.

Neville and Harry looked at him for a moment, on the edge of laughter.

"What?" Ron asked, somewhat annoyed.

"You are really starting to sound like Hermione," Harry said.

"I hope the opposite isn't true," Neville chimed in.

"Shut it. You're just jealous, is all," he said good-naturedly as he made his way toward the ministry library.

* * *

><p>Hermione took a brief look at her watch. It was two minutes past noon and she hadn't seen the time fly while looking at old files on various cases involving house elves. She had only stopped because she was reaching a degree of disgust she had not expected while reading about what often could be summed as a farce rather than delivery of justice. Yet, she was Hermione Granger and her readings of house elves being unjustly accused of petty crimes that logic said they couldn't have committed just steeled her resolve. She would continue her work, sponsor a new law if need be, but she would do everything in her power to stop the shabby treatment thrown upon house elves.<p>

She sighed as she realised she was going to be late to meet Ron at the Leaky Cauldron, as they had agreed that morning before that wonderful interlude. Of course, Ron wasn't exactly a model of punctuality himself but she hated being late, just on principle, even if it was only by a few minutes.

She quickly gathered a small beaded bag and grabbed the light blue cardigan Mrs Weasley had knitted for her. She quickly and silently made her way to the exit and to where she could Disapparate but she was positive that since it was past noon, Hobbes was already gone to lunch, a little detail Hermione had noticed after a few days on the job.

She Apparated in the alley by the Leaky Cauldron and, using her reflection in a small window, tried -and failed- to tame her bushy hair with her palm. As she realised it was a pointless effort and that Ron kept telling her how much he loved her mane, she just sighed and made her way into the old pub that was busy with a sizeable lunch crowd. From behind the counter, Hannah Abbott waved her a quick hello and signed her toward a quiet corner that always had tables reserved for former members of Dumbledore's Army. Hermione returned the greeting in kind and ambled toward a secluded table where she knew Ron and she could have a quiet lunch. She wanted to talk with him about the cases she had spent her morning reading about. Under his unassuming airs, Ron could always bring very pointed insight on many of the dysfunctional workings of the wizarding world, having grown in it.

She was now five minutes late and Ron might already be there. She looked for him and smiled as his unmissable red hair came in view. She walked toward the table and the smile gradually vanished as she noticed who was sitting next to him, seemingly engaged in a lively discussion with him. Holding a glass of Butterbeer in a perfectly manicured hand, laughing lightly to a comment Ron had made, and looking more feminine under her scarred face than Hermione could ever hope for, was Lavender Brown.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Once again, sorry it took so long. Reviews are still appreciated._


	18. Release

**A/N**_ First of all, I want to thank everyone who sticks up with this story even with my sometimes sporadic updates. It really means a lot and a special thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave reviews.  
><em>

_This chapter picks up where the previous one left off. Also, while there's a little bit of Malfoy interaction in here, no Draco in this chapter (he'll be back next) but lots of Ron and Hermione goodness as they still have a lot of things to sort out._

_Anyway, without further ado…_

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

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><p><strong>Chapter 18: Release<strong>

This couldn't be true, was Hermione's first gut reaction as painful memories suddenly invaded her brain. It was then that Ron noticed her and offered her a smile bright enough to leave her nagging old insecurities in the dust, for now.

He signed to her and rose to give her a quick peck on the lips, far removed from the heavy snogging he had publicly shared with Lavender all these years ago or was it just two years before?

"Love, look who was here."

"Hi, Hermione," Lavender told her brightly. "So nice to see you. Ron was telling me all about your new job, it certainly sounds exciting."

"It is," Hermione replied somewhat primly, forgetting for a moment all her grievances with Hobbes and the menial tasks he assigned to her. "How are you, Lavender?"

"Busy, to be honest. But I'm great. I write for the Prophet, two columns now. I started with a divination column and then I was given the gossip column."

"Lovely," Hermione said somewhat a bit too dryly.

"It is. Don't worry, I keep anything about former members of the DA out. And I always verify my content."

"That would be a change... from the previous Prophet," Hermione quickly amended.

Ron was watching the exchange with poorly hidden tense smiles. Why was Hermione so hostile to her former dormmate? She had saved the Lavender's life, for fuck's sake. Surely, she couldn't still hold a grudge against Lavender for _that_ other thing. This was old water under the bridge. He had finally apologised to Lavender after the battle and she had apologised to Hermione. Maybe it wasn't that simple, was it? Hadn't he just torn the front cover of _Quidditch Weekly_ when he had seen Krum on the cover?

Lavender seemed oblivious, or at least did a great job to pretend to be oblivious, Ron noticed, and went on about her activities:

"Oh, and I volunteer at St Mungo's."

Hermione had to bite the answer on the tip of her tongue. She was positive she must look quite cross by now.

"That's funny, actually. You'll never guess who I saw there this morning."

"I suppose you'll tell us, then," Hermione said in a voice that was just a tad too sweet.

"Draco Malfoy!"

As she heard the name and realised what Lavender had just said, Hermione forgot all about her irritation with Lavender.

"Malfoy?" Ron asked with scepticism. "What was he doing there. Getting himself checked in for delusion of grandeur?"

Lavender laughed lightly at the joke, bringing some virtual daggers back in Hermione's eyes.

"No, silly. He said he was volunteering there too, which is quite odd, if you want to know. I work with Castor Greengrass. He helped me after, well, you know," she said evasively as her hand reached toward the scars on her face and became suddenly quite serious. "There are loads more victims, most of them children and Greengrass needs some volunteers but it's not like there's a crowd of people actually volunteering. Nobody wants to work with potential werewolves. So I was surprised to see Malfoy. It's not like he's ever done anything nice."

There was a brief eye exchange between Ron and Hermione, both of them wanting to ask the same questions but Lavender continued:

"Actually, I wonder if I should write about this in the Prophet."

"No," Hermione burst out before quickly adding "It's not like anyone cares about what Malfoy does anymore."

"Are you asking me not to write anything?" Lavender asked with perspicacity. "I didn't know you cared about Malfoy..."

"I don't," Hermione replied. "But I have my reasons for asking."

Lavender looked at her as if she wanted to ask more but to Hermione's relief, finally settled for:

"Very well, I can do that for an old friend."

She then made to gather the large handbag that had been sitting next to her. "I have to go, divination column to write," she smiled apologetically. "It was nice seeing both of you," she said as she rose and engulfed Ron in a tight hug.

Did she have to hug him so tightly? Hermione pondered and launched a curt:

"Yes, nice seeing you too. Bye now."

Lavender let go of Ron and turned to give Hermione the same tight hug. Surreptitiously, she whispered for Hermione's ear only.

"He was always yours. Stop worrying so much."

And Lavender released her and gave her a sad but sincere smile before taking off and leaving Hermione feeling somewhat shameful.

Ron looked at her slightly bemused.

"What was that all about?" he finally asked her.

"Obviously, Malfoy is taking his part of the deal seriously and is actually volunteering at St Mungo's. I'm sure there's more behind it."

"Most likely is," he agreed, "but you bloody well know that's not what I'm talking about, Hermione," he added warningly. "You and Lavender. What the fuck was that about?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ron," she told him stiffly.

"Hermione," he sighed. "I wish you'd stop insulting my intelligence."

"I don't want to talk about it," she answered stubbornly. "I just want to enjoy lunch with you and I only have another thirty minutes before I have to go back."

"So you're just denying it, aren't you?" he pushed between irritation and amusement.

"What do you want to eat? I'm sure you're hungry."

He knew it would get him nowhere -Hermione could be more headstrong than a mule- and that he had to drop the subject, even if only momentarily. He was certainly going to have a discussion with her that evening. But for now, she was right, he was hungry and just wanted to enjoy that short interlude with her before he had to go back to look into the Jameson case with Harry and Neville.

"I am," he confirmed and signed for Hannah who just appeared to quickly jot down their order and swiftly disappeared.

"We got a new case this morning," Ron started and they spent their short lunch talking about the grim topic of Jocasta Jameson's murder.

* * *

><p>Narcissa Apparated with a small pop just outside the gates of the manor. She had had a busy day, 'volunteering' at the ward. Actually, if she put her mind to it, she could forget what the children were and she could enjoy her time there. After all, she had always loved children and had wanted more but it just hadn't been.<p>

She had also visited Draco. Her son looked better than he had at Christmas even if she doubted very much he enjoyed the volunteering. However, she had been surprised to see him take a strong liking for potions. Draco had always been talented in this domain whilst at Hogwarts and was after all Abraxas's grandson but it still came as a surprise, a delightful one, but a surprise nonetheless. She truly believed that after they had regained their name, Draco could make a name for himself in potions, something that would clearly differentiate him from Lucius.

Lucius, that was her other issue. She had tried very hard to mend their relationship, tried to make him see reason and that regaining any kind of status would require some work. Yet, Lucius was used to having everything offered to him on a silver platter. She had of course been used to the same, once upon a time. But she had quickly exited that stage of denial whereas Lucius was still solidly anchored in it.

She went through the wrought iron gate and the front doors of the handsome mansion, both magically dissolving at her presence. A maid appeared to swiftly take her light cloak and handbag and scurried away. Narcissa made her way to the drawing room, wanting to relax with a good book. This was thwarted as she found Lucius was there, visibly waiting for her.

While he had made efforts to keep up his physical appearance, the same couldn't be said of curbing his drinking habits. He walked toward her, steadily enough even if his breath as he spoke to her indicated that he had consumed some mead.

"Cissy, Darling, where have you been?"

There was the lightest slur to his speech but it was his use of the term of endearment that told her that some of his reserve had evaporated along with his sobriety.

She had tried, oh yes, she had tried very hard to put the pieces back together and explain what needed to be done to get back where they belonged. Yet, he hadn't listened. He was the man of the house after all and wanted to hold onto his illusion of authority. The more he clung to a past that was never to be again, the further they had grown apart. They still had meals together and spoke of such mundanities as the weather but they hadn't shared a bed in well over a year. And she had told him nothing about the work and agreement she had with Greengrass or the plan she had to regain her rank in society.

"Visiting Draco," she replied tersely.

"Cissy, dear, you seem to visit that son of yours more than is necessary."

So Draco was only hers now. Fine, she could deal with that. It wasn't as if Draco wanted to have anything to do with his father these days anyway.

"How is Draco?" he suddenly asked, as if he had read her mind.

"He's well. He seems happier these days."

It was true that Draco looked much better. And she hadn't told him of any of the troubles that were currently plaguing her marriage, hoping against all hope that Draco could attempt a reconciliation with Lucius.

"Good. So he doesn't need you that much. What are you really doing, Cissy?"

Maybe Lucius was finally suspecting something was up.

"Why do you ask?" she replied coldly.

"Don't take me for an idiot, please. That's insulting," he said casually. "Are you seeing a lover?"

She let out a short laugh, so preposterous was the idea. While she had no illusion that Lucius had most likely visited other women during their marriage, she had never strayed, nor had she ever wanted to.

In a very sudden and precise move that belied his slightly inebriated state, he took her face in his large hand.

"Don't you laugh at me, Narcissa. You're my wife. Mine," he said as he squeezed her face not so gently.

Her first instinct was to reach for her wand with her free hand and to poke him with it, causing him to release her face and yelp in pain.

"I may be your wife by title, Lucius, but that's where it ends these days." Where it ended a long time ago, she mentally added.

She saw his face unravel at once, as he realised he had crossed a line, one that couldn't be uncrossed.

He mumbled a quick sorry, something she had never heard him ever mutter, and exited the room quickly, always the coward who didn't want to face the consequences of his actions. And she was left standing in the middle of her drawing room, wondering whether this was the final straw for her already very shaky marriage.

* * *

><p>As far as Harry could tell, Ron was in a foul mood. This kind of sour disposition was usually brought on when Ron had had a row with Hermione or had some bone to pick with her.<p>

Since Neville was still at his gran's gathering all the gossip the old witch would know on Jameson, Harry took a chance:

"Something happened between Hermione and you at lunch?" he asked in as neutral a voice he could mutter.

"Why d'you ask?" Ron replied, somewhat defensively.

"You haven't exactly been a ray of sunshine since you came back from lunch," Harry said with mild humour, hoping that Ron's sense of self-deprecation would win over his surly disposition.

"We saw Lavender," Ron finally said after a pregnant pause. "And Hermione went all mental 'cause I was sitting with Lavender when she arrived. And then, she denied everything and said she didn't want to talk about it."

Harry didn't know whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or bang his head against the wall.

"I thought she'd got over the Lav Lav incident," Harry ventured.

"Obviously not," Ron sighed as he raked his face with his large hands.

There was a heavy silence between the two friends before Ron added in a barely audible voice:

"D'you think there's more she says she's forgiven but she hasn't? Y'know, me leaving the two of you?"

Harry put a steady hand on Ron's suddenly sloppy shoulder.

"No, I don't think so. The only person who hasn't forgiven is you."

Ron appreciated Harry's words. Harry who was always quick to forgive.

"Y'know," Harry pursued, "I don't think it's the same. She's just jealous, like another person I know..."

"If you're insinuating I'm still a jealous prat," Ron started huffing.

"Just stating the facts. I saw what you did to Krum on the latest cover of _Quidditch Weekly_."

"But, that's..."

"Yeah?" Harry asked suddenly amused.

"That's besides the point. Krum is a git."

"And why is that?" Harry pushed with a certain enjoyment.

"Shut up, chosen one," Ron retorted, purposely using the nickname he knew Harry to despise.

"Yeah, my point is made. Don't worry, Hermione'll come round and find some very logical reason why she reacted the way she did and why she fell for a ginger who worries too much."

"Wanker," Ron said.

"Just when I think of your sister," Harry cheeked back. "Now that we've put this out of the way, can we focus on Jocasta and how she died?" Harry said in a more serious tone.

"Fine," Ron agreed before adding under his breath "and don't say anything else about Ginny."

* * *

><p>Hermione finally Apparated on the front stoop of Grimmauld Place, away from the prying eyes of so-called reporters who had all kinds of hypotheses about what Harry Potter and friends did in the old -and unplottable again- row house. Reporters? More like gossip mongers in her opinion, and now dear old Lav Lav had joined the ranks.<p>

To say she was in a sour mood would have been a gross understatement. She had left the Leaky Cauldron with something weighing on her. And then, Hobbes had been his usual unbearable and unremarkable self all afternoon, rehashing the McHenry case.

And now, finally back home, Hermione felt annoyed, irritated, exasperated, peeved, well, just plain pissed off if she was honest with herself.

And she didn't know toward whom she felt that way the most: Hobbes for being such an arse -Ginny was right, there just wasn't another word for him-; Lavender, for cuddling up to Ron; Ron for not doing anything to push her away; or herself for acting like a demented jealous hag. Yes, she knew it. It was jealousy, a reflection of all her old deep insecurities when it came to Ron. Well, at least her brilliant brain could come to that conclusion. Her heart was somewhat a bit more blind to that fact and just felt wronged. And her heart had prevailed that afternoon, one that had been a dreadful contrast to the morning started so auspiciously, one where she had replayed the tense and awkward lunch she had had with Ron thousands of time and had just felt worse after each iteration.

She pushed the door open with more force than was necessary and thought she almost saw Kreacher jump. While the house elf had warmed up toward her and she always made a point to treat him with respect and dignity, they still weren't on best friends terms and he still only referred to her as 'Master Harry's friend'. She saw Kreacher slowly disappear toward the kitchen, obviously scared by the mad witch who had just entered the house.

She followed him in the kitchen where she heard him speak to Harry:

"Master Harry's friend seems to be in peculiar mood tonight. It's strange as Master's friend is usually kind."

Hermione felt a brief instant of gratitude for the old elf, knowing that she was finally having an effect on him, besides repulsion. At least progress had been made.

She came in the kitchen and saw Kreacher almost vanish while Harry barely suppressed the amused expression on his face. Obviously, Harry must have heard something about what transpired at the Leaky Cauldron. Across the table, Ron was sitting on a chair that was precariously balanced on its two hind legs. Ron's feet were on the table, something he knew irritated her to no end, and he was reading the Daily Prophet.

"Hi Hermione," Harry greeted her. "How was work?"

"Fantastic," she replied petulantly.

"Hi, Love," Ron said from behind the newspaper in what could have passed for a neutral tone to the unitiated but still held some rawness to those who knew him.

She was keenly aware that he had only let go about the tense moment siwth Lavender at lunch because he knew he could face her that evening. Well it could wait a bit more. She did need to speak with Harry and she thought this might be a good way to postpone the unavoidable discussion she would need to have with Ron. It was Harry who started:

"We caught an interesting case this morning."

"Yes, Ron told me at lunch," she replied while avoiding Ron's gaze from behind the newspaper.

"Good, so you know there's an elf involved."

"In the murder?" Hermione asked suddenly focusing entirely on what Harry was saying. Ron hadn't mentioned the elf during their lunch conversation.

"She found the victim, her mistress. But the story the elf is giving doesn't make sense. We might need your department's help to get the elf to talk."

"You won't get much from Hobbes," she snorted derisively. "He probably would've told you that Dobby was the best cared-for elf alive when he was with the Malfoys. But I can help if you want."

"Thanks for that," Harry said.

"Speaking of the Malfoys," Ron said, joining the conversation for the first time, "why don't you tell Harry what one of our _friends_ told us today."

There had been too much emphasis on the word 'friend'. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to compose herself before she engaged in a row with Ron, something she knew to be unavoidable.

"Malfoy works at St. Mungo's. He works for Castor Greengrass."

"Greengrass?" Harry said pensively, starting to place the name which he somehow seemed to associate with Christmas.

"Andromeda's friend. He's the head potioneer at St. Mungo's and has a ward for victims of werewolf attacks," Hermione refreshed his memory.

"The ferret works with werewolf victims?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I know," Ron said deadpan. "I don't know what's harder to believe, that he spends time with werewolf victims or that he works."

Harry smiled in agreement before asking:

"D'you think it has something to do with our deal?"

"I would think so. I'm just perplexed as to why he hasn't advertised it. Volunteering at St Mungos is good for your image, after all."

"There's something else that's weird," Ron said as if he had just thought of something. "Wouldn't working for Greengrass give him access to potion making stuff? I mean, we know his history with poison, don't we?"

"Ron," Harry said patiently, "you know he was doing it under the order of Voldemort."

"Doesn't make me feel easier about it," said Ron.

"I tend to agree with Ron," Hermione added pensively. "I don't like the idea of Draco with access to controlled potion making ingredients."

"Maybe you're jumping to conclusions here," Harry said. "Maybe Draco doesn't even work with potions and just volunteers."

"Right, and my Mum can't cook," Ron added sardonically.

"Weren't you the one who were on Draco's case two years ago? Are you two like best chaps now?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Hermione interjected. "Harry is just being logical here."

Why did she always defend Harry? She averted her eyes when his showed unrestrained frustration and questioning at her.

"I've got an idea," Harry finally said, trying to pacify his two friends. "Why don't we go and see Draco? After all, we need to know how well Hermione's plan is working, don't we?"

Ron looked at him as if Harry had grown another head.

"You want to go and see Malfoy? The twitchy little ferret?"

"Well, the Muggles have a say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. You're right, it's best to check what he's doing."

"Harry has a point," Hermione remarked earning another glare from Ron before she continued, "it might be better to just go and see him to get to the bottom of this."

"Well, since the two of you want to cosy up to the ferret, let's all pay him a visit and stay for tea, shall we?" Ron said sardonically. "Won't that be loads of fun?"

"Ron, can you just calm down?" Hermione scolded him. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? With me?" he repeated, incredulous she would even ask.

"Erm," Harry coughed slightly, sensing a full blown row brewing between his two friends, "I have to... use the loo," he finally wildly invented as a pretext to leave the room as soon as possible.

Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to really notice his untimely departure, so focused were they on each other.

"Yes, with you," she spat back as if Harry had never even been in the room. "Can't you entertain an idea for a while that may be a bit outside of your comfort zone?"

He rose, causing the chair he had been sitting on so precariously to fall to the floor, and quickly closed the distance between them.

"Why do you have to always take his side?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.

"What? What... you make no sense, Ron," she finally stuttered.

He was so close to her he could see her nose crunch lightly, highlighting the faint freckles splattered on its bridge. Her magnificent hair seemed to have each of its billion strands standing up, as if coursed with electricity and her eyes, her brilliant chocolate eyes shone irritation rather than confusion. He knew she was annoyed at something, and so was he, but couldn't pinpoint whether it was him or herself. She looked formidable, up close, both brilliant and scary, and absolutely beautiful. He wanted to do nothing else than just snog her senseless and take her, maybe here, right on Harry's kitchen table, with the added risk of being caught in the act. The fuck if he cared.

"Ron," she interrupted his meandering thoughts, I don't know what you're talking about."

It brought him back to reality and their present argument. He sighed and with a patience he didn't feel, went on to explain what he knew she understood perfectly well:

"Why did you side with Harry about seeing the fucking ferret?"

"What? Oh, this. Well, Harry has a point... as did you," she quickly added as if to mollify him. "We need to understand what Draco is doing at St Mungo's."

"And seeing him in person is the way to do it?"

"Well, I don't exactly relish the idea of seeing him, no, he's still a little worm but I think he's aware you have a good punch now so he'll watch himself, out of self-preservation. I wonder if he's mended his nose..."

That brought a light smile to his face: Hermione did know how to logically explain any situation. Yet his face didn't relax.

"And I don't always side with Harry. I think I've demonstrated that. Why do you still feel insecure when it comes to Harry?"

"Search me," he answered in a low voice before adding "and I'm not the only one who's insecure. What was that shite with Lavender?"

Yes, Ron never forgot the little details.

"I... I..." she stuttered again wondering how it was that Ron Weasley could do that to her, a witch whose facility with words was renowned after all, how could he leave her speechless so often?

"Don't you run away from it again, Hermione."

His tone held authority and a warning that he wanted to settle this.

"Or what?" she shot back, thinking a good offence might be a good defence.

How could he explain it? It wasn't the fact that Hermione was still jealous of Lavender when there was no possible way in the world he would ever go back to Lavender, or any woman for that purpose. Hermione had said she'd forgiven him for the Lavender incident but that wasn't the case, was it?

"Why are you still jealous of her?" he finally asked bluntly. "I thought it was the past."

"It is," she assured him in a tone that rang untrue to his ear. "Now that that's settled, I need to go to my room to read about house elves," she said somewhat stiffly before making out for the floor above where her room was located.

She walked fast, as fast as her legs would carry her. She actually almost ran but it was pointless when Ron followed her, his much longer legs swallowing the already short distance between them. By the time she grabbed the door handle of her room, he was standing behind her, his tall frame hovering over her. She felt protected and exposed at the same time, wanting to turn around to nuzzle in his chest and fully inhale the fabulous smell of him while simultaneously wanting to punch him for pinpointing her short comings so easily. As always, she was lost in a sea of contradictions when it came to Ron.

His large hand closed over hers over the door handle, warm, enveloping, slightly rough-skinned, and commanding. He turned the knob for her and, as the door swung opened, pushed both of them in her room before magically locking the door behind them. They would settle this now.

He paused a brief moment to take her room in. It was devoid of frilly decorations and just held a few photos here and there and some discreet feminine touches like a small vase holding flowers or sheer purple curtains. And it definitely looked more like a study, crammed with books on every possible surface, including the small bed that she had never slept in. It felt so... Hermione, comfortable and yet slightly intimidating.

She was still standing in front of him and he could see from her heaving form that she was taking deep calming breaths. His hand was still fastened around her delicate wrist, gently encircling it in an almost caressing way. She knew him to be agitated, almost angry, but he was still gentle. He finally spun her around and wrapped his free arm around her waist, bringing her impossibly close to him, where her walls of defence would crumble.

He drilled into her, his blue eyes never leaving hers.

"Why did you treat Lavender so shabbily?"

She remained quiet and he took a deep sigh.

"Y'know, it wasn't all her fault, what happened, between her and me. I'm not proud of it, but truth was she felt good, when you thought so poorly of me you had to Confund that ape McLaggen."

He saw anger flash in her eyes and immediately knew things hadn't come out the way he had meant them.

"So, you're saying it was my fault you went out with her?" she asked in a shrill voice.

"What? No, of course no. What I'm saying is that I was a prat to both of you. That's why I apologised to both of you. Well, you first."

Her anger abated a bit and a small uncomfortable silence fell between them. She had known what he just told her but the reminder still stung. Lavender had felt good.

"Do I feel good?" she suddenly asked him and he knew that was a trick question.

"Come again?"

"Don't play daft, Ron. We both know you aren't. Do I feel good enough?"

"You're joking, right?"

As she glared at him, he understood humour would not get him out of this one and he had to be earnest instead.

"Not just enough, Hermione. There's nothing that feels better than you with me," he told her as he gently stroked her cheek.

He saw her close her eyes as her face relaxed slightly under his touch. Her voice was barely audible as she told him:

"I'm scared sometimes, scared that I'm not good enough and that you'll leave again."

He stopped his stroking as his hand seemed to get paralyzed all of a sudden. She opened her eyes and saw the pain, remorse, and bit of shame in his. It might have been the past but it still felt fresh for both of them.

"I've forgiven you," she hastily added, sensing his sudden tensing, "for Lavender, and for when you left. But I haven't forgotten."

"I really fucked up, didn't I?" he asked, in a voice laden with the same remorse she had seen in his eyes.

"You made some mistakes and so did I," she replied. "I'm not proud of how I acted with Lavender today," she admitted. "I just don't want to keep bringing these things up but I can't seem to help myself when I see Lavender. It hurt losing you, very much indeed, and sometimes, I'm scared it could happen again."

She was being honest with him, baring her soul and deepest fears and if it was possible, he loved her more for this.

"Hermione, I'm not going anywhere. And having a laugh with Lavender doesn't mean anything more. She's a nice girl, just not my type," he tried with humour. "Sorry I didn't realise that earlier on."

She smiled shyly at him and it was as if the air had cleared between them. He slowly gathered her in his arms and realising as she put her head in the crook of his shoulder, that they had talked about something really important and hadn't even raising their voice, well at least not as much as a conversation including the name Lavender would usually have. As her arms tightened around his waist, he shared his thoughts with her:

"Look what happened to us. We didn't even scream at each other," he tried to cheer her up.

"Well, that means maybe we're getting better at this," she replied in what he was relieved to hear was a much lighter tone.

"Maybe, but I still have all this pent-up energy that I don't know what to do with," he said jokingly and with an unmistakable undertone.

Hermione wondered how they had gone from a discussion about such a heavy topic to some Light banter in less than five minutes but that was another of Ron's gifts: he somehow always could improve her mood.

"Well, so do I. do you think you could help me release some of that energy?" she asked coyly.

He smiled a very crooked smile at her before kissing her soundly and backing her up against her bed.

"I love when you get devious," he said in a low voice as he used his wand to clear all the books off the bed and then took her down with him to lie down on top of the light purple duvet.

"Do you?" she asked between two kisses while her hands busied themselves with removing his jumper.

"Oh yeah," he confirmed as he lay his long frame on top of her and his mouth went to kiss every inch of her face.

There was some urgency to his kisses, mingled with a great deal more of tenderness, as if he wanted to show her what he had just told her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him toward her, relishing the feel of his warm body against hers. She had often wondered how he stayed so warm all the time, thinking it was probably the same hyper metabolism that lent him his lanky frame despite his impressive appetite. It just added to the feeling of comfort, heat and protection she associated with him.

"Must be smashing you," he apologised between two somewhat sloppy wet kisses.

"Stop worrying," she told him before adding "or are you suggesting I go on top?"

"Well, you always get some brilliant ideas, don't you?" he cheeked back.

"It's been known to happen," she replied before kissing him again and rolling over with him to end up straddling him.

He took a long look at her, still surprised that she could be sitting on top of him, undressing herself, and looking at him with even more interest than she had ever given _Hogwarts, a History._

She started unzipping the skirt she was wearing and that was currently bunched around her hips. One of her bra straps had fallen off her shoulder and some of her voluminous hair was stuck in the other one, probably a result of her hasty removal of the blouse and cardigan she'd been wearing and had quickly discarded. And yet, he was hypnotised by that sweet and expedient strip tease of hers, with all its awkward moves, as if it had been the most arousing piece of erotica he had ever been to witness.

He himself made quick work of the orange t-shirt he was wearing and was aiming for the button and zip of his trousers when his hand was shooed away by her much smaller and agile one. She began deftly working on ridding him of the pesky piece of garment keeping her away from feeling him, all of him. He lifted his hips to assist her, wanting nothing more than the contact of her skin, so smooth and perfect, against his freckled one, and in one instant was completely starkers.

She came back to position herself on top of him, gently teasing his tip in a light rubbing that would certainly drive him mad. She had discarded her knickers -he had no idea how- but was still somehow wearing her bunched-up skirt and a bra. While she continued the delightful friction, giving him a teasing taste of slick heat, his hands directed themselves to her breasts. He didn't bother removing her bra -the fastening mechanism on these contraptions were still a sorely frustrating point for him-, merely lowering the dangerously low right strap even lower and repeating on the left one, exposing her pert nipples. His hands went greedily around the firm and full little orbs that seemed to have been designed just for that purpose. The sound that came out of her was pure ecstasy as he started gently teasing the eager peaks and she rubbed faster against his erect shaft, sending him in a world that was better than any wet dream he had ever experienced.

His eyes were strained on her, completely subjugated: her voluminous hair, her closed eyes and slightly pink cheeks, her way of biting her lower lip as she lost herself in the moment. On instinct, he took his right hand off her left breast and used his thumb to heighten the rubbing against the little bundle of nerves. He could sense her quaking, as she accelerated her movements, until she finally let go and purred his name in complete abandon.

As she slowly came down from her high, she realised she was still straddling him and that he was looking at her, his left hand still on her breast and his right one still touching her down there and probably coated in her own juices. And there was the very erect evidence that his needs hadn't been fully met. Obviously he had the same idea, as he grabbed her by the waist and made them roll over until their positions were reversed and he was now towering over her, his narrow hips settled between her splayed legs.

He gave her a greedy kiss before seizing her right leg and lifted it, positioning himself just at her entrance. She lifted her pelvis and that was the only invitation he needed to sheathe himself in her glorious heat.

It was always a surprise for her to feel his full girth, stretching her and fulfilling in a way nothing else could. His rhythm quickly picked up, punctuated by the little throaty moans escaping Hermione with each go, until it became erratic and he just released in a low grunt.

He nearly collapsed on her, his body suddenly spent, before he rolled on his side and gathered her close to him, effectively spooning her. He was fighting the urge to fall asleep and the words that escaped his lips were mingled with a yawn:

"I love you, Hermione, 'm not going anywhere."

As he started dozing off, just a short rest before dinner time, he missed the shy smile gracing her face. Here in his arms, she felt loved, strong, protected, and as if nothing could ever hurt her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_ I am not sure how that last scene came out, maybe too quick of a transition from angst to much lighter tone but it seems to happen a lot between them when they go from one extreme to the other. I also wanted to show that Ron isn't the only one with insecurities. Let me know what you think._

_Thank you for reading. Reviews are still appreciated._


	19. Dracos' Dreadful Day

**_A/N_**_ just a short note to thank everyone who follows this story and especially to those who take the time to review._

_Fair warning, there's a heavy dose of Draco in this chapter (as indicated by the title). He's starting to finally see some light, although he's still definitely Draco._

_Anyway, without further ado…_

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19: Draco's Dreadful Day<strong>

The chime was melodious and indicating it was time to rise, which brought on the untimely demise of the enchanted clock as a sleepy Evanesco was uttered. Draco put his wand back on the bedside table and pulled the soft gray duvet back over his head. Yes, he would get out of bed soon, when he judged it was a good time and not when a wretched clock told him it was.

He turned around in the large bed, all empty but for him. As that depressing thought seemed to gnaw at him and was only compounded by staying in said bed, he finally threw the duvet out and sat up. Stretching, yawning, and scratching his stubbly chin, he thought he needed a strong tea to fully wake him up. Of course, he would have to make it. While the gold Grandfather Abraxas had left him was enough to afford living away from Malfoy Manor and his father, it certainly wasn't to maintain the standards of living he had grown accustomed to. No house elf (well, there was none left to inherit anyway, thanks to Potter and friends, not that that inept Dobby had been worth much) and no maid or manservant. He simply couldn't afford one. The thought that he could Imperius someone to do just that had crossed his mind but had been swiftly ruled out. First there was the deal made with the Mudblood. He was quite certain unforgivable curses were included in the list of bad uses of magic that would render the deal nil. Second, there was the fact that he had been completely unable to perform an unforgivable curse since the end of the war. It wasn't a matter of skill or wand. He just couldn't mean them enough to cast them efficiently.

After tending to pressing needs and a quick shave and shower, here he was, alone in his little flat on this Saturday morning, waving his wand at a kettle to warm water and levitating a cup and saucer from one cupboard and tea and sugar from another. The spoon he could retrieve by hand from the utensil drawer at the end of the small but elegant oak table where he sat. The tea had just started to steep and he had made light toasts when he was surprised by a knock on his door. His mother could sometimes be early but they weren't supposed to go to St. Mungo's today and he didn't expect her visit. The Aurors knew where he lived but nobody else really knew the exact emplacement of his flat.

Cautiously, he took his wand and readjusted the belt of his dressing gown before going to the door waiting for another knock. It came as a short rasp marking visible impatience and was accompanied by a familiar, if undesirable, voice.

"Draco, I need to speak to you," Lucius Malfoy commanded.

As Draco made no sign to open the door, Lucius continued, almost pleadingly:

"I know you're here. It's about your mother."

Draco didn't open but asked through the door:

"What about Mother?"

"I think she's about to leave me," Draco heard his father say in what sounded like the voice of a broken man.

Draco hesitated a bit more. His father would know where the flat was or his mother might have told him but it was worth checking his identity, wasn't it?

"What happened the first time I rode a broomstick?"

"What? Draco, stop this nonsense and open the door."

"What happened?" Draco repeated.

"You flew headfirst into an heirloom vase from your grandmother Druella and broke your arm."

There was a somewhat small satisfaction that his father remembered. The vase had been ghastly and even though he had been only seven, Draco had aimed for the article of pottery on purpose. He also remembered the chastising that had followed, not about reducing an expensive piece of china to smithereens but about his lousy flying. A son of Lucius Malfoy's could not be mediocre at anything.

As he opened the door and took his father in, Draco noticed that some additional white hair had mixed with the pale blond one, so much like his. It was also obvious his father hadn't taken the time to shave that morning and that he had probably not slept well in days.

"What happened to Mother?" Draco finally asked in a neutral tone as he used his wand to shut the door close and kept twiddling with it.

"You're not going to offer your father a seat and some hospitality?" Lucius asked as if it were the greatest insult to him.

"Here's my sofa, have a seat. And here's some tea," Draco said as he summoned the cup of tea he had prepared for himself.

"Anything stronger?" Lucius asked.

"Sorry, no Firewhiskey for breakfast. Doesn't go so well with toasts. What happened to Mother?"

"I think she's cheating on me," Lucius said quietly.

Draco had to stifle a laugh, so ridiculous was the idea, and managed to say in a composed voice:

"That'd probably be a brilliant idea on her part."

He was baffled to see his father look miserable.

"But I think you're misguided," Draco finished.

"Then what in hell does she do when she leaves the Manor? She can't spend all that time with you."

"Well, I suppose no. Spending time with me is such a bore after all," Draco answered wryly. "Maybe she needs time alone. Can't say I'd blame her if the alternative was spending time with you."

Lucius glared at his son.

"You really think so little of me, Draco, when I gave you everything, absolutely everything, for you to be successful."

"Right, including that little tattoo," Draco said mirthlessly as he raised his left forearm and pulled the sleeve of his dressing gown to reveal his Deatheater mark, ugly and permanently etched in his flesh.

"That was the best way to access power. You don't seem to understand the status owed your name, do you?" Lucius spat.

"Sorry, Father, but I think you're the one not understanding. We were on the losing side. End of story. Mother's quick thinking and bargaining with Granger and friends is what kept your sorry arse out of Azkaban but do you even acknowledge her for that? No, because the idea didn't come from you."

Draco had just spoken in a fast lashing, pent-up anger he didn't even know about suddenly rearing its head.

"You're an ungrateful little brat," Lucius told him with dreadful coldness.

"And you're a pathetic excuse for a man," Draco replied in the same cold tone. "Now, Mother is not cheating on you, if that's what you want to know. So unless you have any desire to open your eyes and see that things have changed, please leave."

"Very well," Lucius said in a cold voice as he suddenly rose and the delicate cup and saucer hit the floor and shattered, splattering tea all over the once elegant and now threadbare Oriental rug.

Lucius made his way to the door, his spine straight as a rod and his gait a mere reminder of the power he had once held and wielded unabashedly. As he seized the door knob, he turned around to face his only son, searching in the face of the young man the admiration he had once seen there. All he saw was a mask. Draco had been a good pupil, learning from the best how to stifle any display of emotions.

"So, that's it, isn't it?" Lucius asked as a last attempt.

"I'm afraid so, Father," Draco replied calmly, any trace of his outburst from a few moments ago completely vanished.

"Good bye then, Draco," Lucius offered as parting words and Draco could clearly see that it wasn't like their other fights. There was an air of finality in this pronouncement, something foreboding. The man in front of him was a shell of the father he had admired and sought to please all these years. All that was left was a broken man, with blood-shot eyes, balding hair, a lined and unshaven face, and the most pitiful look Draco had ever seen in his father's eyes.

"Good bye, Father."

* * *

><p>Harry watched Ron and Hermione walking in front of him. There was a spry gait in every of Ron's steps, even if they were slow and measured so as not to distance Hermione and her shorter legs. His right arm was draped over Hermione's shoulder and she had her head bent slightly against his chest in a position that Harry thought not to be conducive to efficient walking but that seemed to work for his two friends.<p>

It had taken time for him to get used to the pair of them getting so openly affectionate towards each other. Of course, there had been signs before, Harry thought. Yes, he might have been at a complete loss when it came to romantic relationship matters but even he had noticed all the little bits of electricity that seemed to fly between the two best friends. He might have bad eyesight but he wasn't blind.

And being the person probably closest to both of them, he had also noticed the subtle differences in their behaviour since they had finally got together. He had seen Ron squelch many of his old insecurities and learn to be slightly more diplomatic, taking time to listen to others. He didn't know how much was attributable to the exceptional maturity spurt Ron had known in the past two years or to Hermione's influence. As for Hermione, she had learnt to relax a bit more, although it wasn't uncommon for her bossy side to still shine, Harry thought with affection.

Harry couldn't help the happy smile that bloomed on his face as he observed them, so close, so obviously in love. It certainly was heartwarming to see them that way, together at last, heartwarming at least until they came up wearing identical the-world-can't-touch-me-I've-just-had-a-great-shag smiles like they had yesterday evening at dinner. Now, that was the part that Harry didn't want to think about as it otherwise brought shudders.

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor where they knew Draco's flat to be, Harry pondered one last time whether it was the right decision as, just as Ron had pointed out the previous night, visiting the ferret wasn't going to be a fun or enjoyable affair. Yet, his instinct told him to keep a close eye on Draco because, while he believed that the ferret had been cured from his lust for power and evil things, he still didn't trust him. And his instinct had served him well so far in life, hadn't it?

The three of them stopped on the landing and with just a brief look and nod of the head, agreed silently to let Harry knock on the door.

* * *

><p>A strong feeling of ambiguity had fallen on Draco as he had shut the door on his father. There was something odd in seeing Lucius Malfoy so despondent at the mere threat that his wife might be leaving him. Draco had believed things had improved between his parents, not understanding why it somehow seemed to matter to him anymore, but his mother had looked more cheerful these past few months and the topic of the sorry state of her marriage had not come up since Christmas. He briefly wondered how much else his mother was hiding and whether he even actually cared. He quickly put that thought away as he finished the breakfast that had been interrupted by his father's visit.<p>

He went back to read the Daily Prophet issue he had swiftly abandoned on a table earlier. The picture of a somewhat familiar face was staring back at him, smiling and vaguely pretty, as the caption below read that its owner, Jocasta Jameson had met an untimely and gruesome death. Well, that was a perfect choice of breakfast reading, wasn't it?

He made another cup of tea and decided to attack another one of his grandfather's fascinating book on potions. This one, like many others he had opened, was full of neatly scribbled annotations that provided invaluable insight in the mind of the talented potioneer Abraxas Malfoy had been. There were also the other random comments, dealing with variations on potions that would prove lethal, especially to filthy Mudbloods. Draco just chose to ignore those.

He was deciphering a very complex alteration his grandfather had made to a simple beauty potion when he heard another knock on his door. Was his father back? Or maybe his mother paying him an impromptu visit on a Saturday? He shut the book closed and walked toward the door, raising his wand and wondering whether he had ever received more than one visit in a single day at his flat.

"Who's there?" he calmly asked.

"Malfoy," a voice that Draco would have recognised anywhere announced, "we need to talk."

"Potter?"

"Ron and Hermione are with me too. We need to talk about our little deal, Malfoy."

"And you somehow operate under the delusion that I want to talk with the three of you," Draco replied nonchalantly.

"We know you work at St Mungo's with Castor Greengrass," came Granger's voice.

"Don't make us blow the door opened," Weasley added.

"Prove who you are," Draco finally relented.

"You couldn't kill Dumbledore when you had an opportunity," Potter said, obviously lacking in subtlety. Draco removed the charm keeping the door locked and saw the trio standing in front of him. He hadn't seen them since that impromptu visit at his aunt's house just before Christmas but they looked the same, all cursed with terrible hair, be it in style, texture, or colour. He focused on Ron and Harry, still unable to look fully at Hermione without remembering her writhing form on the floor of the Manor's drawing room, as she had pleaded for mercy, and feeling the strong nausea rise in him.

"What do you want?" Draco asked, cutting any unnecessary conversation. "Aren't you three busy giving your next interview about how you saved the wizarding world?"

He wasn't even sure why he had let them in. There was a somewhat comforting familiarity in the three of them, in taunting them, that somehow felt welcome and took away from his mind the faraway mixed yells of pain and anguish that seemed to echo through his brain.

"I would offer you some tea but you won't accept it anyway and I have no desire to dirty up my cups. So, can you just explain why you're here."

"We told you," Hermione replied calmly, "we want to know why you're volunteering with Greengrass."

Why was it that everyone wanted to know? And how did the Mudblood know about it? He then remembered his brief encounter with Weasley's former paramour.

"Oh, that must have been a delight to talk with your former girlfriend, Weasley. At least, even with the scars, she's prettier than the current one. Have you ever heard of Sleekeazy potion, Granger?"

Hermione surreptitiously seized Ron's hand, anticipating an outburst. Instead, he squeezed her hand back affectionately and used words to rebuke Draco:

"Why, Malfoy, after all these years, you can't do better than a comment about Hermione's hair. That's quite pathetic, don't you think?"

Draco had a brief moment when he was surprised by Ron's reaction, having expected to get a rise out of him, but quickly hid it and smiled coldly instead.

"Why do you care who I work for? I'm just volunteering. With werewolves, if you want to know."

"According to Lav, they're only victims of werewolves and many of them are only children," Ron remarked.

"All the same," Draco drawled. "Not exactly a pleasure."

"Then why do you do it?" Harry pushed.

"And why do you need to know, Potter?"

"Because you'd never do anything if there wasn't something for you in it in the end," Hermione said, sounding slightly exasperated.

"Touché, Granger. But shall I remind you that part of that little deal we made with you involved volunteering for St. Mungo's... or else."

"Then you'll remember too that any illicit magical activity was also explicitly forbidden," Hermione said in a slightly too sweet voice. "Including brewing controlled potions without proper licence."

"And isn't volunteering with the head potioneer of St Mungo's giving you access to potion brewing?" Harry asked pointedly.

"And given your history with poison, we wonder why you need to work with said head potioneer," Ron added.

His history with poisons? Draco didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The only time he had used poison, obtained through that creep Meads, it had been under the Dark Lord's orders, a way to protect his own life and his parents from being killed. And all it had resulted in was Weasley being almost poisoned to death, and, according to some of the gossip he had heard afterwards, getting him back in talking terms with Granger.

Draco had a fleeting moment of doubt. Was he somehow responsible for these two being together? The thought was both ludicrous and disgusting. He quickly filed it away and went back to their question. No, he was quite positive poison was not up his alley, even if he knew how to brew some, courtesy of his demented aunt's educating him on the process.

He replied nonchalantly:

"So what? I'm not allowed to brew potions?"

"No," Hermione relented, "you can brew potions, just not anything illicit."

"Tell us something, Malfoy, why haven't you advertised it?" Ron asked suspiciously. "Working at St. Mungo's is good for your image, isn't it?"

"I am good for my image," Draco retorted while Ron tried, and failed, to hide a snort.

"What's so funny, Weasel?"

"Nothing. It's just that being a bollockless coward with an affinity for skull and snake tattoo is indeed excellent for your image. I missed that, somehow."

Draco scowled at him as Ron had been able to sum up in just ten words all of his feelings of inadequacy. When had the Weasel become so sharp?

In a move that surprised even himself, Draco dropped in his comfortable armchair and sighed before telling them:

"I'm good at potions and it gives me a purpose."

If Draco had told them he was joining Dumbledore's army and starting a natural reserve for Hippogriffs, the trio might have been less surprised.

"That's... unexpected," Hermione ventured.

"Why is that, Mu.. Granger?" he quickly corrected himself. "Think you're the only one who can brew potions?"

"No," Hermione quickly defended herself, "but it's a surprise hearing you say you've found a purpose."

"Anything else?" Draco ignored her comment as there was nothing else he could say as it was just as surprising for him. The war and defeat of Voldemort had obliterated everything he had ever known before. He was just being a good Slytherin and being resourceful.

"Satisfied, now?" Draco finally said, willing them out of his flat as quickly as possible.

"No, but we'll be on our way as your hospitality is somewhat lacking," Harry retorted.

That was their parting words and it was with relief that Draco shut the door on the annoying trio. As he sat down and tried to read the book he had been immersed in prior to their impromptu visit, he couldn't help thinking that he had told them the truth: he had found a purpose.

* * *

><p>As Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked together in a small side street, off Diagon Alley, not wanting to be recognised, they started talking:<p>

"Was it me, or did Draco look a lot better?" Harry started.

"I didn't know you fancied blond arseholes," Ron joked back. "I'll have to let Ginny know... but yes, he looked better, well as good as the ferret can look. He still hasn't fixed his nose, though," he added with a small smile of satisfaction.

"I think it's too late now," Hermione remarked. "It would involve much more advanced magic than a simple Episkey. Of course, he could choose the Muggle way and get rhinoplasty to rebuild it but that's probably not an avenue that Malfoy will explore."

"What's that rhino thing?" Ron asked, always interested in the weird things Muggles did.

"Well, you get some anesthesia and then a doctor goes and reshape your nose bone."

Ron looked at her with a genuinely horrified expression on his face.

"And you wonder why some wizards think the Muggles are mad..."

She chuckled lightly before telling him:

"Well, it's not like you feel anything, there are some strong drugs that numb you. It's the same type of drugs my parents use when they do root canal or extract wisdom teeth."

As he noticed Ron pale even more, Harry tapped on Hermione's shoulder:

"I don't think you're selling Muggle medicine here. He looks like he's about to be sick."

"'m okay," Ron reassured her sheepishly as the three of them shared a laugh.

As the laughter died, Hermione resumed:

"Anyway, Draco seems to have a permanent broken nose. But he did look better. I frankly don't know how to feel about him these days," Hermione added pensively.

The anger flashed white and sudden on Ron's face, instantaneously wiping off the smile that had hung on his lips mere moments ago.

"He's a fucking coward who hates you and all Muggle-born and did nothing to help when... when..." Ron couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence but there was no need for it.

"I haven't forgotten," she replied in a small voice while squeezing Ron's hand affectionately. "I don't think it was about me in his head. It could've been anyone under Bellatrix's wand. Draco just wanted to save himself. As you said, he's a coward. But somehow, I don't think he enjoyed it either."

"So that's it?"

"Yes, Ron, that's it. Hating him would be wasted energy on my part."

Harry had witnessed the exchange between his two friends in silence.

"I think Hermione is onto something," he finally said. "It looks like Draco is trying to do something else with his life. Frankly, I reckon I pity him more than I hate him right now," Harry admitted.

"You feel sorry for the little fuck?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Well, it's kind of worse, isn't it?" Harry stated.

"I'm not sure," Ron said in a calmer tone.

"And it doesn't change the fact he's a foul little git," Harry added defensively. "But see the bright side, Malfoy seems to be trying to turn his life around. That wouldn't have happened without Hermione's plan."

"I s'pose," Ron semi-agreed. "It's just I don't trust him."

"Well, no disagreement here," Harry said, "we'll have to keep am eye on him but maybe he deserves a chance at redemption."

"You're starting to sound like Dumbledore, you know," Ron told Harry.

"Well, there could be worse things than resembling Dumbledore," Hermione said, "Just promise us not to wear purple robes," she told Harry in a very serious tone.

Harry did a double take, not sure how to take Hermione's latter comment until he saw the corners of her mouth twitching upward, somewhat mischievously, and realised she was joking.

"You're spending way too much time with him," Harry retorted while pointing at Ron. "He's having a bad influence..."

"Actually, I could spend more time with her," Ron chimed in. "Anyway... Anyone fancy a cup of tea and some scones at Hannah's? I'm hungry."

"When aren't you?" Harry asked dryly. "Let's go."

As the three friends made their way to the Leaky Cauldron, Ron couldn't help mull over their conversation about Malfoy. Was redemption really possible for the ferret?

* * *

><p>As the clock chimed two o'clock, Draco decided it was time to get out of his flat. It was actually a perfect opportunity as he did need some potion ingredients from the Apothecary and could also use the walk to Diagon Alley to clear his mind. And maybe he should go for a short flying afterwards.<p>

He made a quick list of the ingredients he needed to brew the potion he had found in his grandfather's book. While he had no interest in what the potion could do (it was supposed to be a beauty ointment), there was a certain level of difficulty in brewing it, one that would please him to achieve and would distract him from the two odd visits he had been paid.

As he made his way through the meandering alleys leading to Diagon Alley, he couldn't help mulling over the odd encounter with his father and the other one, even odder, with Potter and friends. The more he thought of it, the darker his mood became, a sharp contrast to the late summer blue sky above him that held the promise of a beautiful and mild day when he would have preferred a dark and stormy weather. Even the weather was conspiring against him.

He was positively scowling as he pushed the door to the Apothecary and just glared at the counter employee who always looked at him with unmasked contempt. After checking the piece of parchment on which he had written the items he needed, he decided to make his way toward the plant section.

He was searching for Belladonna when he saw her. For a brief moment, all he could think about as he saw her laughing with her sister was that there was something peculiar about her. She possessed that natural air of being well-cared for and loved. And while not a classic beauty, she offered an appealing mix of striking blue eyes, porcelain skin, and blood red lips, that even as she gave in into mirth, looked soft and pillowy.

The instant barely lasted and he went back to looking for Belladonna before she could notice him. After the day he had already had, the last thing he wanted was another uncomfortable conversation with Castor Greengrass's somewhat annoying daughter.

He had obviously not been swift enough as he saw her quickly say something to Daphne that sent the older sister away. Even as she walked away, it was blatant that Daphne didn't approve what Astoria planned to do as she frowned, looked Draco's direction, and then frowned some more. Yet, in the end, she let her sister alone and, to Draco's dismay, Astoria approached him and engaged a conversation:

"Well, hello, Malfoy. Shopping for ingredients for new potions? Trying love potion?" she said with a mischievous smile that illuminated her face and lent her a strange resemblance to a sly cat.

He nodded slightly in her direction but remained silent, even though that strategy had failed him last time he had employed it with her.

Her smile grew. It was evident that silent treatment might be something that Astoria Greengrass was used to and could take in strides.

"Still not inclined to talk, are you?" Astoria asked him with a questioning rise of her eyebrow.

It was a perfectly arched eyebrow, the same light brown colour as her hair, and it seemed to be able to tell even more by a simple gesture than her oh so voluble mouth.

"Maybe you should try the same," he murmured harshly.

"Well, Draco, many people think that'd be a good idea, including my dear mother."

She said this with her sly cat smile, as if it didn't bother her at all. What kind of girl was she? And had she really called him by his first name?

"And you seem to enjoy being alone... or maybe lonely," she pursued in the same voice she could have used to describe the effects of a potion.

"What if I do?" he shot back, now passably irritated.

"You're lying" she replied matter-of-factly, the sly cat smile intact and her piercing eyes drilling into him.

He finally found the belladonna he had been looking for and put it in his basket. He murmured a curt good bye and went looking for some mushrooms. And to his horror, she followed him like a puppy who wanted to play.

"Don't you have to go back to your sister?" he asked her in a tone that failed to hide his discontent.

"No, I told her I'd see her in a few hours. See, Daphne loves shopping for new robes when I much prefer the apothecary."

"You might want to try new robes," he said evenly, noticing her plain brown and well worn ones. "Or can't your father afford better clothes for you?" he added maliciously as he turned his back to her to peruse the mushroom bins.

"Nah, these are very comfortable," she replied dismissively and perfectly oblivious to his hurting comment. "Besides, what good will it do me to have new robes and no potion ingredients when I go back to Hogwarts. It's not like I'm taking a NEWT in fashion."

"Obviously not," Draco replied dryly as he found the mushrooms he was looking for.

"And now that things have returned to somewhat normal and that Granger is finally out, I can have the spotlight as best potions student with Slughorn," she added as if he hadn't spoken.

"You know Granger?" he asked her somewhat surprised as he turned around to face her.

"Who doesn't? Well, I don't know her that well but she was headgirl last year and I was made a prefect by Slughorn after the previous Slytherin prefects sort of defected after the battle."

A pregnant and uncomfortable pause insinuated itself in the conversation at the mention of the battle.

"What did I do to you?" Draco finally asked her. "Why do you keep talking with me?"

There was exasperation in his voice, the way he wanted, but also a light bit of curiosity that shone through.

"Inquisitive mind, that's all. Papa says I got it from him."

"And?" he asked again, with marked impatience.

"You pique my curiosity," she replied bluntly. "I don't know what to make of you, Draco Malfoy. I've heard a lot about you, seen some too of the not so great things you did in school. Yet, you volunteer for my father. I want to understand before I can make my opinion about you. I don't like judging books by their covers."

He didn't know whether to feel insulted or comforted by her admission.

"Look," he said, reigning his annoyance in, as she was after all Greengrass's daughter and he knew much could be lost if he wasn't careful, and it wasn't as if it could be easily fixed with money or power seeing as he had got neither at that point. "I don't need a friend or someone to have conversation with and I'm not some animal to observe, so please leave me alone."

"If that's what you want to believe," she said evasively as the sly cat grin returned. "I'll be on my way. I need to meet Daphne and then my boyfriend."

She had a boyfriend? Who would want to go out with such an irksome girl? She might be attractive, in her own ways, but that all changed when she opened her mouth.

"Good bye, Draco," she told him as her hand reached for his. Surprised by the contact, he withdrew his swiftly, but with enough time to have felt the softness of her fingers on his. She paid no mind to his gesture and just left him standing with a basket full of belladonna and mushrooms. As she walked away from him, he couldn't help noticing that her arse, though rather small, was swaying in a very hypnotic way as she almost skipped out of the shop.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** _All right, I am officially terrible at keeping a straight update schedule. I'll try to get next chapter a bit faster._

_As always, reviews and comments are greatly appreciated._


	20. The Brightest Witch

**_A/N_**_ _I first want to thank everyone who reads, alerts, reviews this story. It's definitely a labor of love and the encouragement are the best fuel there can be. _I know it's been forever since I updated. In my defense, I wrote a little one shot in the meantime _

**_Start shameless self-promotion _**_(__skip ahead if you wish)_

_I wrote a one-shot that combines Ron and Hermione, Shell Cottage, and music from Mumford and Sons. Interested how I could mix (or mangle) all this together? Check my profile for Promise and let me know if you like it.  
><em>

_**End shameless self-promotion.**  
><em>

_Disclaimer: I must not tell lies... Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20: The Brightest Witch<br>**

"In a nutshell, the man is a complete bastard," Neville announced as he, Ron, and Harry sat down across from Higgins and his desk and started munching on some crumpets Kreacher had made that morning.

"Well, there's no lack of them," Higgins mused in.

"Gran says Jameson's a ruthless womaniser who will backstab anyone who displeases him."

"Charming," Ron said dryly between two mouthfuls of crumpets, Kreacher's crumpets which were almost as good as his Mum's.

"And still according to Gran, he has gold."

"Harry and I confirmed that with the goblins. Though for some reason, they still don't like seeing us," Ron deadpanned.

"I told Hermione it was a bad idea to free that dragon," Harry said with a grin.

Higgins coughed and said with no heat:

"Not that freeing a dragon from Gringott's isn't noteworthy, Potter, but can we focus back on Jameson and his dead wife, whose murder we still need to solve."

Ron sniggered lightly before giving his attention back to Neville who pursued:

"Jameson was also clever enough to lie low during the war, although Gran says she has no doubt he was rooting for Voldemort and still embraces all that pureblood superiority nonsense."

"Well, being a bastard doesn't make him a murderer," Harry said.

"But it could help," Ron added.

"Indeed it could," Higgins agreed as he rose from his desk and started pacing around, obviously deep in thoughts. "But things are rarely as they seem on the surface. Besides, so far, we have confirmed he was in London when the murder occurred."

"Doesn't mean he couldn't pay someone to do it," Neville piped in.

"No, it doesn't, Longbottom. And my research seems to corroborate your grandmother's perception although I still don't see why that would push him to murder his wife. I'm going to talk with some of Mrs Jameson's friends and we will also interview the house elf again."

"About this," Ron added, "Harry had that great idea of getting the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to help us."

"And it has nothing to do with the fact your girlfriend works there, Weasley," Higgins replied slightly amused.

"Well, maybe, but Hermione is good."

"So I've heard, many times and from many people," Higgins agreed. "If she can help us get information from that elf, it'll be brilliant."

"And we're going to St Mungo's to talk with a potioneer about what poison was in Jocasta Jameson when she died," Harry added.

"Sounds like a plan. I will want a parchment on this, everything you learn from the potioneer."

There was a general groan of disapproval as Higgins laughed heartily:

"Paperwork is one of the hidden joys of being an Auror. Out you go now..."

* * *

><p>Draco observed his mother from far away. She seemed to have taken to a young girl who couldn't be older than eight. The little girl sat on a chair and Narcissa was standing over her, gently brushing the girl's long blond hair. Draco knew the young girl not to be affected with lycanthropy. His mother would probably have never touched her hair otherwise. The girl also had a brother who wasn't that lucky, although Draco wondered if being orphaned following a werewolf attack was luck indeed.<p>

In all the years he had spent home, he had resented his mother's sometimes smothering love, wanting to prove that he didn't need her shower of affection. But then, the war had come and his perspective on Narcissa Malfoy had changed dramatically. For one thing, they'd all be dead if not for her lie. As hard as it was to accept, Potter vanquishing the Dark Lord had also meant life for the Malfoys. Draco had no doubt that their fall from the graces of the Dark Lord would have been final after the battle, had things gone another way.

She must have sensed Draco looking at her as Narcissa turned to face him and signed him to come over. He had no interest in hair brushing but he had noticed his mother had a certain melancholy air about her.

"Here we are, Mary, I think your hair is all brushed. I'll come and read to you in a few minutes."

The little girl sauntered out to go back and play with a rather worn doll that sat with other toys, leaving Narcissa and Draco free to talk.

"She seems to like you," Draco said tersely.

"I didn't know you a judge in these matters," Narcissa replied half-amused, half-intrigued.

"Father came to visit me," Draco abruptly changed the subject.

"Ha," was the pointed answer he received.

"He thinks you're having an affair."

"I know," she continued laconically.

"And?" Draco pursued.

"It's nothing to concern you, Draco. But no, whatever ludicrous idea your father has come up with, I'm not having an affair."

"He doesn't know you're volunteering here, does he?"

"Your father made a choice."

There was no need to elaborate as Draco perfectly understood what his mother meant. Lucius Malfoy had chosen not to participate in any of Narcissa's efforts to regain her status.

"What about you, Draco? You look happier these days," she said as her hand reached up to affectionately land on his shoulder.

A light cough interrupted Draco's opportunity to reply.

"Mr Malfoy, might I have a word?" Castor Greengrass asked them.

Draco turned back to his mother who offered him a sad smile and nodded lightly. He returned her smile and followed the potioneer to his office.

Castor invited him to take a seat before opening the conversation:

"The reason I asked you here is that I am very encouraged by what you have accomplished with potions. Miss Ellworth tells me that while your demeanour toward her remains cold at best, you have made suggestions for some potions that could be beneficial."

"But none of them were implemented," Draco replied somewhat bitterly.

"Potion-making as we do it here is a very controlled process, Mr Malfoy. We have protocol to follow even if we know that some ingredients might be better than others when we brew them. That's called following rules, a foreign concept to you maybe, but one that is extremely useful in a hospital environment."

Draco snorted.

"That's why you spend your time experimenting with Wolfsbane on your so-called patients."

"Dear Mr Malfoy, don't tell me you are now caring for the residents of my ward? That would be touching indeed. But to answer your question, I never experiment on them. I use animals."

"Are your patients better than animals?"

"Much, Mr Malfoy, and much better than certain wizards too."

The message was plain and shut Draco up.

"As I say, I work on elaborating new potions and then test them on wild wolves. Not an easy feat to get ahold of one, by the way. But to go back to what I was saying early on, you are showing surprisingly good instincts when it comes to potions. Funnily enough, I asked Horace who taught you, I believe, during your last two years at Hogwarts, and he says that while not a bad pupil when it came to potions, you weren't as good as others. He was quite complimentary of Miss Granger and, given he was talking with me, of my own Astoria."

"Well, I was a bit preoccupied in sixth and seventh year."

"Understandably so. I wish Professor Snape were still alive. Such a tragic end. The man was sour but usually made a correct assessment of the potion ability of his Slytherin pupils... no matter, I will go with my judgment. I want to offer you an opportunity."

His curiosity suddenly piqued, Draco carefully asked:

"What type of opportunity?"

"You seem to enjoy potion making, and both Ellworth and I noticed that while brewing potions, your demeanour improves significantly. And moreover, you have talent in this area. So here's what I propose to you. I have an opening for an entry level potioneer. The pay is rather low but I don't think your family is hurting for gold."

"My father isn't but I'm not him."

"You aren't remunerated for the current potion work you do," Castor pointed out. "That's part of your voluteering. Volunteering I expect to continue."

"Of course," Draco replied sarcastically knowing that any offer from Greengrass would come with strings attached.

"And no need to be sarcastic about it, Mr Malfoy. Sarcasm is such an overrated trait."

Draco raised an eyebrow before asking:

"Anything else?"

"Yes, one last thing. Andromeda has informed me of some facts about your past. She knows from one of her friends that you were involed in some attempted poisoning during your sixth year at Hogwarts."

Draco remained impassible under the scrutiny of Castor's piercing blue eyes.

"Are you denying it, Mr Malfoy?"

"Why do you want to know?" Draco eluded the question with one of his own.

"Simple. While an entry level potioneer wouldn't be given access to controlled potion ingredients, we have well-endowed stores here, that anyone worth his name would be able to use to brew simple, but effective, poisons. So, are you denying it?"

"What if I am?"

"I wouldn't believe you and would rescind my offer."

"What are you playing at?"

"I reward talent, Mr Malfoy, but not lying. I'd rather know all there is to know about you. "

"It's rather disturbing, you know."

"No doubt," Castor waved dismissively. "We all make mistakes, Mr Malfoy. Does it mean we aren't worthy of redemption? I think not. I needn't know about all your mistakes as I'm sure we'd be here until Christmas. But I need to know about the poison part. Were you involved?"

Draco sighed deeply and sat himself in the spartan armchair facing Greengrass's desk. The man knew and had already made his opinion. Yet he gave him another chance. It would have been easy to deny it. After all, he was more than adept at Occlumency. Was it worth wasting something that for once he enjoyed.

He finally said the word in a barely audible voice.

"Yes."

"That's all I wanted to know. While it means I will keep a closer eye on you, it also means my offer still stands. Think of it."

Castor rose and was imitated by Draco.

"I will," Draco answered.

"Excellent, Now Mr Malfoy, if you'll excuse me, I have Aurors coming to see me," Castor said as he walked toward the door. "A case they want to discuss about, interestingly, poisoning."

As he was saying that, someone knocked on the door and Castor swiftly opened it. Neville Longbottom was standing in his door, two others behind him.

"Mr Greengrass, hello, I'm Neville Longbottom and here are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. We work with Auror Higgins and made an appointment with you to discuss a murder case we're working on."

"Certainly, Mr Longbottom," Castor replied cordially. "Could the three of you please have a seat while I escort Mr Malfoy out."

As Draco passed in front of the trio, there was no shortage of contemptuous looks being cast around while Neville whispered under his breath to Ron:

"What's he doing here?"

"Long story," Ron mumbled back. "We'll tell you later."

Draco was finally out of the room and Castor made his way back in.

"The Jameson case, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Ron confirmed.

"I don't know who had the idea to use that spell on her, to list the content of her stomach," Castor started somewhat sternly.

"I did," Ron muttered and swallowed audibly.

The man was short and not physically impressive but a certain aura of authority emanated from him. Ron just tried to remember he was one of Andromeda's best friends and therefore had to be a decent man.

Castor's face then split in a sly grin, lending him a feline quality.

"Well, Mr Weasley, I believe?"

"Yes?"

"That was a brilliant idea, very brilliant indeed."

Harry tapped Ron on the back with the same proud smile a father would have had for a prodigal son while Neville sniggered knowingly and Ron's ears turned a violent shade of red.

"Mr Weasley, that was very inspired. Not only to know this rare spell, but to use it. The reason I'm saying this is that I have all the ingredients of a very lethal, and rare, poison in there: toxicum virulentus. It's brewed through dark magic and has the peculiar property of masking itself as a benign potion after only a few hours post mortem."

"Lovely," Ron said dryly.

"As you may suspect, this poison was very popular during both rises of he who must not be named."

"Voldemort," Harry corrected instinctively and saw Castor shudder lightly.

"Yes, him. As I was saying, it's a rare poison and brewing it requires not only to be versed in the dark arts but also to have exceptional brewing skills. And getting by the ingredients is not that easy as most of them are highly regulated," Castor added.

"Where could it be found?" Harry asked with interest.

"Underground market," Castor offered before adding pensively: "or here..."

"How's that?" Ron asked with curiosity, still very aware that they had just met Malfoy.

"Well, St Mungo's routinely uses all the ingredients for our own potion making needs."

"Who has access to them?" Harry asked with interest, obviously following Ron's train of thought.

"Myself, Miss Ellworth, Mr Green and Miss Cooper. All three are top potioneers and would have access to these ingredients."

"Not Malfoy?" Ron prodded.

Castor looked at the three young men in front of him pensively. He knew of what they had done for the wizarding world and was grateful to them. He had not expected, however, this barrage of questions and was suspecting they knew more about Malfoy than he did.

"No, Mr Malfoy has to be escorted by myself or Miss Ellworth to get to these ingredients. How do you know he works here?"

"We just saw him," Ron offered, unapologetic, and earned himself a modest yet reprobating eye roll from Castor.

"We know he's volunteering in your ward and is allowed to help with potion brewing," Ron finally added seriously.

"Anything else you know about Mr Malfoy?"

"Too much, unfortunately," Harry said.

"I see," Castor replied laconically.

"How do you keep track of who uses them," Neville ventured to distract from the heavy silence that had just set.

"We have an enchanted log that records everything: who takes what, when, how much, and for which patient."

"Could we get this?" Harry pursued and saw Castor's face scrunch in disapproval.

"With an order from your department, yes. But you have to understand we must protect the confidentiality of our patients."

"Understood," Harry said.

"Are you suspecting one of my potioneers or myself?"

"We just need to make sure we're not overlooking anything, Sir," Ron said neutrally.

"Understood," Castor echoed the words of Harry. "If Higgins get a signed order, I'll be happy to provide the log. In the meantime, here's my written report for Jocasta Jameson."

"Thank you, Sir," Ron said as he seized the neatly rolled parchment.

"Another thing, I take interest in all the victims I examine. I hope you resolve this case quickly. Werewolves are for most of them unwitting victims and I hate to see them used as scapegoats. I appreciate that the current department is looking deeper than what meets the eye."

"Thank you, Sir," Harry said with genuine gratitude. "We'll be on our way now."

As they made their way toward the door, Draco pulled back in the pocket of his robes a Weasley extendable ear and quickly moved away from the door, lest someone sees him eavesdropping on a conversation between Greengrass and the Aurors.

As he made his way to a quiet corridor, he replayed the conversation in his head. He was familiar with the poison mentioned, very familiar indeed. He also knew where the one used in the demise of Jocasta Jameson had originated. As he mulled things over, a plan started to emerge, a plan that could kill two birds with one stone if he executed it carefully.

* * *

><p>Higgins was pleased with the report of the three Aurors in training.<p>

"That was clever on your part to ask about that log. I know Greengrass and would bet the gold in my vault that he has nothing to do with poisons but I can't say the same of his three potioneers. And you say the son of Lucius Malfoy works for Greengrass?"

"According to Greengrass, Draco has no direct access to potion ingredients," Harry replied.

"Hum... the Malfoys have been lying low since their trial and Malfoy senior helped us put quite a few wayward Deatheaters in Azkaban," Higgins remarked.

"To cover his arse," Ron added.

"No doubt," Higgins agreed. "Which is why we may want to keep an eye on Malfoy Junior. We can't do anything else than that at this point. Anyway, don't we have to go and interview the elf now? I understand the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures sent us someone to assist us, a certain Miss Granger. I believe you know her," Higgins said with a slow smile.

* * *

><p>The elf sat at the table. She was wearing a crisp white dress, and not a tattered pillowcase like Dobby had. While it was obvious the elf had been very well treated compared to some of her peers, Hermione doubted very much that the frail creature in front of her had ever been paid for her labour. Hermione also noticed that there was an undeniable nervousness about the elf.<p>

She was starting to wonder why when she saw the four men file into the room, three of them very familiar. Her smile grew as she first greeted Neville, then Harry, and finally, with a grin bright enough to light up the great hall of Hogwarts, Ron. She still had the mark of her elation plastered on her face when she met the eyes of an older man, with grizzled hair and a face where creases marked fondness for laughter and proneness for reflection and deduction.

"You must be Miss Granger," he greeted her with warmth. "Pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Morris Higgins. I'm trying to train these three," he said while nodding toward Neville, Harry, and Ron, "but truth is they can teach me a few things."

Hermione shook his hand with visible enthusiasm.

"Pleased to meet you at last, Mr Higgins," she replied. "Now, should we get started?"

She turned toward the elf who looked as nervous as ever and smiled kindly.

"Nelly, here are Morris Higgins, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter?" the elf repeated in a squeaky voice.

"Don't let it impress you," Ron offered with a kind smile, wondering whether elves had some sense of humour. "He's fairly average, actually."

The elf remained quiet so Hermione pursued.

"They work for the Auror Department and are trying to solve what happened to Mrs Jameson."

"Poor mistress, so horrible," the elf said before bursting in loud sobs.

Hermione kindly reached for the tiny elf and offered a handkerchief, which seemed to profoundly shock the elf.

"For Nelly?"

"Yes. For you. Take your time, Nelly. We know you didn't do anything wrong."

"Master said Nelly let Mistress die and that he doesn't need Nelly's services anymore. Master gave Nelly clothes."

The implication was too much to bear for the poor elf who saw the gift not as the emancipation it really was but as a deep insult, the end of any dignified life.

"It's Winky all over again," Harry whispered in Ron's ear.

Ron vaguely remembered the fate of the other elf, the one who had belonged to the Crouch family and had been used to conceal their worst secrets but had been discarded like a vulgar piece of rubbish the minute she hadn't met Crouch's unattainable standards. He hadn't realised then why Hermione had been so up in arms about the elf's fate. Sure, even he hadn't found it fair but at least Winky hadn't been beaten like Dobby had while in the service of the Malfoys. Twin thoughts hit him simultaneously: Hermione had been right all along and elves deserved a much better lot than the one given to them. And the Malfoys really were vile.

Hermione managed to calm down the elf with gentle words and simple kindness and empathy, something the elf must not have been shown much of lately. Her small chest finally stopped heaving and she noisily blew her nose in the the plain white handkerchief Hermione had given her.

"Could you tell us what happened?" Higgins probbed the elf.

"Nelly was making tea for Mistress and when Nelly got into the parlour and found..."

The elf gave a big heaving breath before bursting into high pitch sobs again.

"Mistress was there, blood."

While Hermione made gentle shushing sounds to reassure the elf, Ron couldn't help noticing that something was amiss. Of course, it was difficult to see when his attention was more than half-taken by Hermione, her kind face as she tried to pacify the elf now in full hysterics, her unruly hair yearning to be free from the confine of a loose bun at the nape of her neck, just at that delicious curve he loved to nibble on, her voice that even through the soft words she murmured to the elf, retained its innate bossy tone. Yet, he saw the slight shift of the elf's large eyes, the barely noticeable wringing of her hands, or the pause as the elf seemed to want to say more but seemed unable to. How could they get the truth from the elf? As he was plumbing the depths of his mind to find a solution, his eyes met Hermione's. She looked slightly annoyed, something difficult to see to the uninitiated eye but he knew her too well. They shared a quick glance, Ron's eyes moving imperceptibly to the elf and his head giving a barely noticeable negative nod. Hermione licked her lip in a way that drove him mad and slowly closed her eyes to signify her agreement.

She decided to change the angle of questioning.

"How long were you working for Mrs Jameson, Nelly?"

"Nelly looked after Mistress Jocasta from the time she was a baby."

"Was she kind to you?"

All evidence had pointed that the elf had been very well treated by Jocasta Jameson, at least by wizarding standards.

"Yes...yes. she gave Nelly presents."

"And Mr Jameson?"

The change in the elf was sudden and unmistakable.

"Nelly tried not to be alone with Master. He..."

"Nelly, he's no longer your master," Hermione reminded her kindly.

"He didn't... didn't care for Mistress Jocasta... or Nelly."

Before Hermione could pursue, Ron who had been rehashing all they had learnt about Jameson was suddenly seized with an intuition.

"Did Mrs Jameson have male friends?"

The elf looked confused and just barely at a loss.

"Mistress had many friends..."

"Any male ones?"

"No..." the elf replied evasively.

"None at all..." Ron pushed, now fully convinced the elf was withholding some important portion of the truth.

The elf still had her head bowed when she whispered:

"One, but Nelly wasn't supposed to know."

As low as her voice had been, nobody had missed her words.

"Nelly, that might be important to solve what happened to your Mistress," Harry chimed in.

The elf remained silent for a minute before finally saying:

"There was a man who came to visit Mistress when Master was on travel. Nelly never saw him but she heard him one day talk with Mistress, about leaving Master."

"You never saw him?"

"No, Nelly never saw him. But Nelly knew when the man visited. Mistress sent Nelly on errands when he visited."

They were all holding their breath as the elf continued spinning her tale:

"Mistress sent Nelly on an errand on... that day. When Nelly came back, Mistress was dead. The werewolf."

"Why do you think it was a werewolf?" Neville suddenly asked, having also noticed the changes in the elf.

There was a a brief moment when the elf raised her bowed head and looked at them with a slightly confused air. Harry and Ron whispered the word "Confunded" at the same time and saw Hermione slightly nod in their direction. As if knowing that was all the elf would give them today, she kindly told Nelly.

"Nelly, thank you so much for what you told us."

"This is most helpful," Higgins added. "We are done for now and you are free to leave."

Hermione rose along with the still weeping elf and after bidding good bye to the Aurors, escorted the elf out of the room.

"So now, we need to find who that 'friend' was," Higgins said. "Good job, all of you, and quick thinking again, Weasley. I'll see your lot tomorrow. The wife is supposed to make minced meat pie tonight so I'm on my way home. Why don't you three do the same?"

* * *

><p>The room was dark but for the light blue glow from magically conjured flames and the flood of moonlight. In the middle of tangled sheets, they lay entwined, naked and spent, on his large bed. Ron was absently playing with a wayward curl, gently brushing the skin of her flushed cheek with it. She looked relaxed, content, sated, and he couldn't help the pride that swelled in him in thinking he was very responsible for that state.<p>

When he should have been utterly relaxed and ready to succumb to slumber, his thoughts were dancing in his head as if in a wildly chaotic choreography as he kept replaying the events of the day. And part of him was oddly amused that he was worrying about what would become of the elf. Hermione's influence, he smiled inwardly. He had to ask her:

"What will happen to the elf?"

She turned to look at him with a smile so full of tenderness he couldn't help asking:

"What? What did I say?"

"Nothing..." she smiled shyly. "You just worry about house elves."

"See it from my perspective. Each time I worry about elves, good things happen to me," he replied somewhat smugly.

She gently pushed an index into his chest.

"You do care... don't try to deny it."

"All right, all right. I do. Can I get my kiss now?"

"I don't know," she feigned pondering. "I think you just got a lot more than a kiss."

"You know me, a born glutton... I can always go for more," he added with a waggle of eyebrows.

She sighed seemingly with exasperation until she couldn't hold the laugh and took his mouth in a tender kiss. He was still relishing the softness of her lips when she slowly pulled away and told him:

"I don't know what's going to happen with Nelly. Unfortunately, there's not much for elves who get freed. I sent an owl to McGonagall and she said Hogwarts would be glad to take Nelly."

"But..." Ron encouraged her, sensing her brief hesitation.

She stared at him, enjoying the soft colour of his hair in the moonlight:

"How do you know there's a 'but'?"

He smiled widely.

"Your voice hitches and you start having this crease between your eyebrows," he said softly as his fingertips went to gently touch the spot he had just mentioned.

She looked both crossed and pleased at the same time.

"Very well, but I don't know if this is what should happen. Shouldn't there be something better for elves when they are finally freed."

"Love, elves aren't really freed on a daily basis and from an elf's perspective, that's the worst that can happen to them," he delicately informed her.

"I know," she replied somewhat haughtily. "And it's sick!"

"And you will solve that, won't you?" he added with an unshakable faith in her ability that warmed her heart.

"You do care," she repeated.

"Well... let's just say someone helped me see the truth," he said coyly.

And he sealed his pronouncement with a tender kiss which he was happy to see her return until she pulled away again and smiled at him.

"I need to convince more wizards, starting with my own arse of a boss."

"You said 'arse'," he pointed out to her with some mischievous delight.

"I have decided some time ago it was the proper term for Hobbes," she replied primly, earning her a low laugh.

"You always surprise me," he said as his arm went to wrap her into a tight and close embrace.

"And I have some ideas..."

"Is there a time you don't, Love?"

"Let's just say it's time for the Malfoys to fulfil the last part of the deal we made and support the cause of house elves."

As she mentioned the Malfoys, the lazy smile that had been gracing his face vanished.

"Can you not mention the fucking wankers when we are naked and in bed."

"I suppose you aren't talking about house elves, are you?"

And with that simple joke, she managed to defuse the tension that had been building in him.

"Don't worry," she told him reassuringly. She then kissed his lips slowly, a bare touch and murmured to him:

"I just want to think about you and me right now, naked and in bed."

There was no denying it: she was the brightest witch of her age.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Sorry for the cliched ending but she is the brightest... Reviews make a wonderful early Christmas gift :)  
><em>


	21. A Good Cause

**A/N **_ Happy New Year!_

_Just a short note to thank everyone who reads this and a special thank you to all who take the time to review. A special thank you to HalfASlug who has been very kind to mention this story to other readers. If you are one of the three readers who read this story and haven't yet read her wonderful stories, please check her out._

_Well, here's another chapter. Let's just say this one earns its M !_

_Disclaimer: Imust not tell lies... Harry Potter doesn't belong to me._

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><p><strong>Chapter 21: A Good Cause<br>**

He straightened the tie and its perfect knot, and pulled on the flaps of his wool cloak. Perfectly cut, it was made of fine yet warm wool maybe too warm for this mid-September morning but it lent him the air of authority he was looking for. His face was clean-shaven and his hair neatly trimmed and severely parted to the right, in a way that cleverly hid the beginning of his receding hairline. He examined his face in the mirror, noticing it was fuller again, his appetite having returned in the past year, and devoid of the purple bags that had underlined his eyes a few months ago. His gray eyes were as pale as ever and shone a calculating look back at him. He sniggered at his reflection, happy to find some of his old self there. Well, there was still the broken nose, now too far gone to be mended by simple magic, damn Weasley, but for the first time in months, he felt satisfied with being Draco Malfoy.

He had dressed his best as he had two visits to make that day, both with great potential for his future. His confidence was back in full swing as he walked in the office, noticing the ornate details of the plaster on the ceiling and the paintings of frolicking wood nymphs on the walls.

"Mr Malfoy, I'll admit it was a surprise to hear you wanted to see me," the other man greeted him.

"Well, I had to take time from my busy schedule but I'm sure what I have for you will be worth this conversation," Draco replied haughtily."Let me get to the point. I know the Aurors are investigating a case where Toxus Virulentus was used."

The reaction was brief and barely visible, a slight crisping of the fingers but it didn't escape Draco, nor the fact that he now had the upper hand.

"How would Aurors know about Toxus Virulentus? My understanding was that Shacklebolt had replaced almost the entire department with his men."

"And women," Draco added. "It's true, he has."

"And your family has been quite busy helping said department."

"Father mostly," Draco replied with a brief humorless smile. "But that's not why I'm here. I think you still are the only source of that poison on the market, aren't you?"

"Are you so sure, Mr Malfoy?"

"Well, it takes talent to brew a correct version. You said so yourself last time we met."

The other man smiled smugly.

"I am good. What is this about, Mr Malfoy?" he then asked seriously.

"Well, let's say it'd be easy for me to slip to the Aurors what I know about your talent. After all, Aunt Bella spoke highly of your gift in that area and we all know she was hard to please."

"That'd be irksome indeed. But I could easily prevent that."

"Ha, I thought you'd say that, so I have taken some precautions. Should anything happen to me, there's a letter and memory waiting for the Aurors."

"Thinking ahead, Mr Malfoy."

"I did learn a few things from Father."

Covering his arse was definitely one of them, he silently added.

"So, I suppose you would like something in return."

"You know what I need, don't you? You have the power to make it happen and it'll be easy for you, won't it?"

The other man stared at Draco with a mix of annoyance and admiration. Lucius's son deserved more credit than he would have given him. Still, there was no way he could let the young Malfoy walk around with so much knowledge, knowledge that could lead to the Aurors finding a lot more about him and that little troublesome moment with Jocasta. Young Malfoy would need to be taken care of. But that was neither there or now.

"Yes, I can make it happen."

"Then, I think we have a deal," Draco said seemingly satisfied but very well aware the other man was already planning an early demise for him. "And we will make an Unbreakable Vow to seal it, won't we?" he added with a Cheshire cat smile.

The other man stared at him.

"I have learnt a few things from my father, as I mentioned before," Draco added in a tone that could have been apologetic but was smug instead.

"You give me what I want and I won't speak to anyone about what I know."

The other man finally accepted, albeit reluctantly, and Draco knew his early death was still very much being planned. No matter, it was part of his plan. He had no intention to die and that was why he was very careful with the phrasing of his part of the vow.

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><p>She had to make a list. Lists always worked at keeping her organized. She had already sifted through about a hundred of old cases involving elves and had read about the many injustices the little creatures were subjected to. She still had to cull through old volumes at the ministry library, research any laws that had passed or had been proposed to help elves. She doubted she was the first person to ever be revolted by the shabby treatment given to house elves.<p>

Methodically, she wrote down her list, assigned deadlines and planned. She was Hermione Granger and planning was one thing, amongst many others, she excelled at.

"Miss Granger," Hobbes's mild and yet grating voice interrupted her.

"Mr Hobbes," she greeted him back neutrally.

"I heard from the Auror office that you helped them in the interview of an elf."

"Yes, Sir, that was what I talked to you about."

"Ah yes. Well, it was good we could help the Aurors in that investigation, however using department time to provide lodging for the elf wasn't part of mission."

"I thought the mission of our department was to cater to harmonious relationship between wizards and other magical creatures, as well as to ensure the well being of said creatures. Am I mistaken?" she asked harshly.

"That elf was freed by her master. She's no longer our concern," Hobbes replied dismissively.

"So our job is just to make sure she's left alone on the street, addled by the shock of her recent dismissal and the loss of her beloved mistress, isn't it?" Hermione asked pointedly, feeling more outraged by the second.

"No, Miss Granger," Hobbes stammered. "That's not what I said."

"Sir, I wrote to Professor McGonagall to find a home for Nelly at Hogwarts. And Professor McGonagall was happy to accept Nelly at Hogwarts."

She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but she saw the slight recoil in Hobbes. She took a deep breath and pursued:

"Maybe you don't see it this way, but the treatment elves receive in this world is just abominable."

"Once again, Miss Granger, I don't think you understand our world so well," he fought back condescendingly.

"With all due respect, Sir, I think I do."

"You obviously don't," he insisted. "Elves live to serve. It's always been that way."

"Because something has always been done one way doesn't mean it's the right way," she countered.

Taking her Gryffindor courage in her hands, she added:

"Things need to change. I am working on putting together a law project to ban cruelty towards elves and make remuneration for their services compulsory."

Hobbes gave her a very patronising smile that she found more vexing than a frank derisive laugh would have been.

"And who do you think will approve of this law in the wizarding world?"

Despite the fury that was seething in her, she focused on remaining level-headed. After all, she had foreseen Hobbes's resistance to her project.

"Would you say the same if I got support from the Minister and from some old wizarding families?"

Reminding Hobbes she personally knew Kingsley was a tactic she wasn't proud of but that usually yielded results. She had mentioned her work to Kingsley and he had been encouraging, always supportive of changes that would bring out the end of oppression for one group or another.

"If Minister Shacklebolt is involved, I would of course follow his directives," he replied in a falsely reverent tone. "What old wizarding families are you talking about?" he finally asked and she knew that despite all, she had piqued Hobbes's interest. If her law was adopted, after all, there was a potential for a lot of positive attention for the department.

"Well, I have the support of Harry."

"He's your boyfriend, that doesn't count, even if it's Harry Potter," Hobbes retorted.

"Actually, Harry is more like my brother but that's beside the point. Besides Harry, I have some support from the Weasley family."

"Now that you mention it, I do remember, your boyfriend is one of Arthur Weasley's sons. That man was always about proposing the most asinine laws to protect the Muggles," Hobbes replied with unmasked contempt.

"Arthur Weasley is one of the bravest and kindest men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing," she replied incensed at the petty attack. She then remembered who she was dealing with and added:

"And he's senior undersecretary."

"Perhaps, but still, all those are connected to you personally. I'll tell you what, Miss Granger, get the support from a family you aren't closely linked to and maybe your law might stand a remote chance of even being reviewed."

She had known it would be his reaction and also, that he was unfortunately correct so she finally used the ace she had left in her sleeve:

"What if I get the Malfoys' support?"

This time, Hobbes gave her the derisive laugh.

"Well, if you manage this, then that would be an exploit indeed."

"Then, I will manage it. After all, I helped defeat Voldemort."

She had the small satisfaction of seeing him shrink back at the mention of the dark wizard's name.

"And you know what, Mr Hobbes, many elves helped us along the way."

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><p>It was odd, Narcissa realised, but she recognised that feeling. That was the same she had experienced when she had spent many hours reading stories about heroic warlocks slaying dragons or singing about the Black family history while lulling her blond little angel to sleep and he had returned sleepy smiles. It was a feeling of simple happiness and enjoyment. She was actually enjoying herself and the time she spent there.<p>

True, there was the fact that the alternative awaiting her back at home was definitely a less pleasant prospect. Lucius's appearances were rarer and rarer and she wondered some days what he spent his time on, besides emptying bottles of refined mead, great wine, or sometimes, Firewhiskey. When they did have dinner together, it was in oppressing silence and she often took to her room instead to avoid her own husband. She still hadn't told him anything about what she did at St Mungo's.

She longed for the days when Lucius had been more like himself and wouldn't have a temporary reversal of fortune get him down. And she still clung desperately to the hope that once she finished the deal with Greengrass, they would be able to get some of that status back and Lucius would be more like the man she had fallen in love with and married.

But for now, she focused on the task at hand, task that didn't feel at all like work. Yes, some of the young charges were half-beasts but she could avoid those if she was careful and focus on the non-infected ones. Besides, the half-beasts kept raving about Miss Lavender, who seemed to be the same Lavender Brown who wrote the gossip column in the Daily Prophet. Narcissa thought it prudent to interact as little as possible with them.

But there were others, the ones who weren't infected and seemed to genuinely enjoy her presence. Little Mary was giggling as Narcissa read her a tale. The child reminded her of herself at the same age, albeit with less confidence than she had possessed as a child, probably due to the lack of a doting father and loving mother for Mary. How odd was it that she could find some solace in the company of a little orphaned girl?

She was pondering just that when she saw Draco approach and found herself approving of the way her son looked, tall, smartly dressed, and seemingly proud of who he was. She hadn't seen him this confident in several years.

"Hello, Mother," he greeted her as he let her deposit a peck on his cheek. "Have you seen Greengrass?"

"You've made a decision about his offer, I take it."

He nodded silently.

"And?"

"I will accept his offer. I do need some gold after all."

The smile that had graced Narcissa's face as Draco had told her about his decision abruptly disappeared.

"Draco, I can give you gold."

"It would be Father's and I don't want it."

"The gold is as much mine."

"Not in Father's eyes," Draco said somewhat ruefully. "I will show him I don't need him," he added defiantly as part of him still seemed to be an eleven year-old boy seeking approval from his father.

"Besides, we will need some gold to give to St Mungo's very soon, won't we? Our deal with Greengrass is almost over."

"It is, I suppose," she replied.

Her master plan to regain status was about to reap its fruit and Draco had found a way to finally get back to his old self, as if having shaken off the stigma of the last few years. Yet, she couldn't summon the excitement the situation should have called for. Draco didn't seem to notice, obviously preoccupied by something that Narcissa assumed was his upcoming meeting with the head potioneer. So she forced a smile and finally sent her son on his way to Castor Greengrass's office.

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><p>Their day had been another frustrating one, spent interviewing many other friends of Jocasta Jameson's -the woman had been extremely well connected socially- and none of them had been men. All of them had been frivolous socialites more concerned about the gossip they could glean on the details of the gruesome murder than about the actual murder victim. One had even been less than surreptitious about hitting on Neville, to the amusement of Harry and Ron. Yet, in the end, there had been no progress about finding the mysterious male friend Nelly had mentioned and they were still no closer to solving her murder.<p>

Now, all he wanted to do was to get home, run some of his observations through Hermione and that fantastic brain of hers and then run his hands all over her equally fantastic body. Sometimes, mindless shagging did wonders. Besides, Harry wasn't home that evening. Since Ginny was in London between two tours with the Harpies, Harry had decided to take her to a fancy dinner. And for Ron, it didn't go further than dinner as his brain categorically refused to imagine Harry and Ginny doing more than hand holding while making gooey eyes at each other and that was already a disgusting thought in and out of itself.

Yes, it would be a perfect evening to relax with Hermione. He actually wished there were more evenings with just Hermione and him, in their own home. The idea had been dancing in his brain for a few weeks now. Not that he wasn't grateful for Harry's home, he truly was and the rock bottom rent Harry was charging, wasn't likely to be found for a space as big as Grimmauld Place or including a house elf. Yet, he had started saving some of his wages, both from working for the Aurors and for George a few evenings and weekends, and was slowly but surely accumulating enough to start buying his own place in a year or so. Of course, there was also the fact of asking Hermione to live with him...

As he entered the house, he was surprised to find it empty. A quick glance at his watch told him it was nine o'clock. He had expected Hermione to be home by now. With a sigh, he grabbed the bacon sandwich Kreacher had left for him, along with the cucumber one he had made for Hermione and Apparated back at the ministry.

It didn't take him long to find her, alone in the department, working at the light of a candle that seemed about to run out of wax. She jumped out of her chair and spilled ink all over the parchment she had been writing on as he called her name.

He heard her mutter under her breath and wondered whether she was trying to suppress some chosen swear words. Part of him swelled up with pride at having some corruptive influence on the very proper Hermione Granger.

That was until she glared at him and could have almost burnt a hole in his forehead with the fire in her eyes.

"Ron, I've been working on this for the last four hours."

"Which is when you should have quit," he told her nonchalantly.

She groaned in frustration and he rolled his eyes up.

"Are you a witch or what?" he asked her as he used his wand to quickly siphon the ink staining her parchment.

She watched him effortlessly restore her work and as she realised she had overreacted, started laughing in a way that warmed his heart. When she finally stopped, she wiped a rogue tear brought by laughter at the corner of her right eye and left a smear of ink on her cheek.

"You've got ink on your cheek, by the way," he said very softly as his fingers went to trace her face. "Did you know?"

It was all it took for her to kiss him fully, her tongue sending jolts straight to that southern part of his anatomy, as it engaged in a sweet and languorous dance with his. Just as his thoughts moved to where he would like her tongue to go or how her desk was wide enough to lie on it, she ended the kiss and smiled against his lips.

"My knight always comes to my rescue, doesn't he? I hadn't seen the time," she told him truthfully.

"It's all right," he said huskily as he moved away from her, putting some distance between his very eager cock and her enticing curves, lest he actually put into action the wicked thoughts his brain had just fantasised.

He sat himself on the edge of her desk and handed her the sandwich Kreacher had made for her before biting ravenously in his own.

"Thought you'd want food," he said his mouth still full and she couldn't help smiling, finding his uncouth manners part of his undeniable charm.

"Thank you."

They ate in silence before he finally asked her.

"What are you working on so late?"

"My project on passing a new law for house elves," she answered proudly. "I finally ran the idea through Hobbes this morning."

"Yeah? And how did the arse react?"

"Well, I think he's clever enough to see the potential benefit for the department and himself of course, if the law passes."

"That's good but there is a 'but', isn't there?"

"Well, remember what I told you about the last part of the deal with the Malfoys?"

She stood and positioned herself between his legs, creating a delightful pressure that distracted him.

"Yeah... what... no, what did you say?"

"The last part of the deal is that the Malfoys will help me get that law passed. They will back it up."

"That's quite twisted, you know?" He told her as she snaked her hand in his fiery locks and brought his mouth closer to hers.

"Yes, but if a family as prejudiced as them can support house elf reform, who won't?" she whispered against his lips while she hiked one of her legs up above his thigh, bringing their bodies incredibly close. I'll meet with them next week."

His brain suddenly seemed to take control over his body again as her words registered.

"Wait, you mean, we will meet with them."

"No, just me," she confirmed somewhat puzzled by his reaction.

He pushed her away and stood, now towering over her.

"You can't be fucking serious, Hermione. The Malfoys?"

"I can handle them," she replied somewhat determinedly. "Besides, the meeting will be at the ministry and for professional reasons."

"When it comes to that deal, you bloody well know it's all very personal," he bellowed.

She stared at him and used her wand to quickly shut and lock the door. She didn't expect anyone to be around this late at night but didn't want their argument to be overheard.

"Ron, calm down," she pleaded with him.

"Why? I should be calm when you are going to meet alone with the people who... who..." he couldn't say the word.

"They didn't," she countered. "Bellatrix did and she's dead. They won't do anything and if they try, I can take care of them."

"How?" he asked her as he easily and silently disarmed her as to prove a point.

He was surprised to see her kick his shinbone quite violently and easily steal his wand while he was still yelping in pain. She then used the wand to push him on the desk and immobilise his hands by his sides and sticking them to the desk.

"Why the bloody hell did you do that?" he asked her sounding both annoyed and impressed.

"Prove I can defend myself, Ron. Sorry about the kick," she said ruefully while she aimed the wand at the spot she had kicked and whispered a spell that changed the area from sore to all warm and tingling.

"That's a good diversion," he acknowledged. "But they wouldn't be as trusting of you," he pointed out.

"And I would kick somewhere else than shinbone and would use a full body-bind curse," she countered. "Ron, I can take care of myself," she repeated much less heatedly.

"Hermione," he attempted to reason her again as he struggled against the spell that held him stuck to the desk, restraining his hands and preventing him from touching her. "They are bastards and not worth your time."

"They are if it means a law can be passed to better the condition of house elves," she offered while getting closer to him. "Think of it, Ron. That would also be the end of our deal with them and I'll be glad to be shot of them after that, believe me."

He gave a big sigh and she knew he was starting to relent. He finally told her:

"I don't like it, not a bit."

"Ron, it will be an official meeting. They still have the deal we made hanging over their head, if they try to harm me, the magic of our deal will hand them dire consequences. Besides," she added as she got closer to him and ran her hand up the length of his thigh, "I know how to call you if need be," she added softly as she reached inside the pocket of his trousers, where she knew he kept the Deluminator.

As she pulled her hand out, she lingered, touching lightly his leg, and then moving on to his chest before gently cupping his face and laying a barely there kiss on his lips. He was eager to return it and his palms itched to bring her closer to him but he realised he was still unable to use his hands. He coughed slightly.

"Hum, Hermione, you can free me now. Your point is made."

"Actually, Ron Weasley, I am not sure I will."

Her voice was half way between bossiness and seduction and his desire for her grew tenfold.

"You know," he told her casually. "That scary bossy side of yours has always turned me on."

"Really?" she asked him seductively.

"Oh yeah. Besides, I can see some benefits... you'll have to do all the work if I can't use my hands."

"Who told you there was any work to be done?" she whispered in his ear before gently nibbling on his lobe and had the satisfaction of hearing an audible swallow.

She leant over him kissing his forehead, long nose, chin, and finally his full lips, parting them open with a dart of her tongue.

As she kissed him, she used her hands to tug at the haphazard knot of his tie and proceeded to untie it, quickly moving to his shirt and making fast work of the buttons, finally revealing his pale chest.

He let her undress him, being unable to move his hands but also thoroughly enjoying the situation. He had Hermione seemingly ready to shag his brains out on her own desk. Why risk having her change her mind? He just let her continue his undressing. She was now working on his trousers when she suddenly stopped, feigning the consideration of options offered to her:

"You know, I could leave you here..."

"Won't that be a good thing to explain to Hobbes tomorrow why you left your half-naked boyfriend stuck to your desk?"

"Not quite yet, half-naked, that is," she bantered back.

"Work on it then. Remember, my hands aren't working at present."

"Tsk-tsk," she chastised him playfully. "Technicality. As for Hobbes, I can just use a Disillusionment charm in the meantime."

"Somehow, I don't think you'll leave me here alone. You hate wasting opportunities."

"Indeed."

"Then I'm all yours," he said as he lifted his pelvis and closed the distance between them, creating a delicious friction.

"You are quite a willing participant."

"Eager is more appropriate," he whispered to her as he nipped lightly at her shoulder. "But I know you can handle yourself," he risked, figuring she was turned on enough to continue this little game.

"Ron?"

"Uhm?" was the only questioning noise coming from his lips as they were otherwise engaged in ravishing the skin of her neck.

"Don't stop," she told him breathily and removed the spell immobilising his hands.

He didn't know whether she was talking about kissing her, bantering with her, protecting her, or just plainly loving her but he was quite intent on carrying on any of those.

His hands now free to roam, he possessively took her by the waist while she wrapped her arms around his neck, and let him ravish her. Soon, her robes were discarded, her blouse opened, and her bra pushed out of the way as he sucked greedily on her pert breast, extracting delightful moans from her.

Her deft little hand had moved south to pull his trousers lower and gently rub the very blatant sign of his desire, sending him in a whirlwind of sensations. He used his right hand, now mercifully free, to explore under her skirt, caressing the soft skin of her round bum before moving to the front and pushing the flimsy fabric of her knickers aside to reach his goal. His long fingers gently prodded her slick folds before finding the hot and pulsing nub. It didn't take long for her to start keeling in absolute abandon as she came undone under his touch.

She had barely reopened her eyes that she pushed further on to the desk and climbed on him before slowly impaling herself on him. Ron forgot his own name as he found the familiar warmth of her surrounding him. He wanted to last, to give her the slow love-making she seemed to enjoy but this had long ago ceased to be an option. She seemed as far gone as he was and a few thrusts were all it took for them to reach their peak together.

She collapsed on top of him, still partially clothed and breathing heavily. His hand went to caress her voluminous hair as he kissed her lips and whispered loving nonsense. She just snuggled in the crook of his neck, the way she always did when their coupling ended.

"Love?" he whispered to her.

"Hum?" she replied somewhat dreamily.

"I think I've corrupted you."

"Might have," she mumbled.

"We shagged on your desk. I would say we must have broken about fifty departmental and ministry rules."

"Won't be the first time I break rules in your company," she replied with a yawn and had him laugh. "But see the bright side: it's always for a good cause."

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><p><strong>AN **_Thank you for reading... Reviews are very appreciated._


	22. Negotiations

**A/N** _I'm back... no, I wasn't dead. Just had a hard time updating fanfiction with several very heavy weeks work-wise and two bouts with really nasty flu-like viruses._

_Okay, enough of my pathetic excuses and on with the next chapter. Things are moving along for our young ones. Murder to solve, jobs to navigate, relationships to build. And they thought finishing Voldemort was the hard part. Ha!_

_Without further preamble..._

_Disclaimer: you know the drill..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 22: Negotiations<strong>

With a yawn and a stretch, Ron sat on the edge of the bed, which was now empty and cold. Even if he had learnt to wake up earlier, he still couldn't beat Hermione who seemed to rise at the crack of dawn every morning. Groggily, he got out of bed, tended to pressing needs, and made his way one floor down to the kitchen, drawn by the wafting aromas of frying bacon.

He noticed Kreacher perched on a stool, cooking the so-enticing meat. He had grown somewhat fond of the old elf after more than a year of living with him and mumbled in another yawn:

"Morning Kreacher, smells good."

"Master Weasley," the elf bowed as he greeted him.

Ron turned around to greet the people sat at the wide oak table. His eyes rested on Hermione first, always a magnet for his fickle attention.

"Morning, Love," he told her with a wide grin before kissing her lips lightly and revelling in the sweetness of them.

"Harry, Ginny," he nodded in the direction of the other two occupants.

"Morning," they replied in unison, sporting identical grins and pyjamas.

They were identical because they were the same pair of pyjamas, Harry's, that had been Geminioed. Ron had spent so many years waking up to Ginny at the breakfast table that he hadn't even reacted when his sister sat at his own house table.

As Ron put the pieces together, he felt the old pangs of protectiveness. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Ginny sent him a glare, as if to invite him to even try.

"Yes, Ron, I spent the night here, in Harry's bed," she started.

"Oh boy," Harry exclaimed under his breath while Hermione seemed suddenly enrapt in the reading of the Daily Prophet.

Before Ginny could pursue, Ron held a hand up and just told her:

"That's cool. Just spare me the details."

That kicked the wind out of the sails of any snappy comment Ginny was ready to hurl back at him. Mirroring expressions of shock graced Harry and Hermione who no longer pretended not to listen to the conversation between the Weasley siblings.

Ginny finally sputtered:

"Thanks, I suppose."

A pregnant pause passed before Ginny pursued:

"Try the crepes -that's what Hermione calls them- Kreacher made. They're really good."

"Yeah, the little bugger can actually cook," Ron replied fondly as he stabbed at food ravenously. "So, how was your tour?"

Ginny and Ron carried on a conversation about the Harpies as if the earlier uncomfortable moment had never happened. They were so engrossed in it, they didn't notice Harry leaving and signalling to Hermione to follow him to the drawing room.

He softly closed the door behind them and to Hermione's surprise, cast a Muffliato spell.

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione enquired, suddenly worried about her best friend.

In response, Harry jammed a hand in his pocket and retrieved a little velvet box. He opened it to reveal a simple and exquisite diamond ring.

Hermione was baffled for a moment before asking him:

"This is a great ring, but no, I don't want to marry you."

"Don't be silly, Hermione," Harry replied, mildly annoyed until he saw her smiling.

"Ron is having a bad influence on you, you know."

"She'll love it, Harry," Hermione spoke seriously. "It's beautiful. Are you going to ask her?"

"No, I just bought a ring to carry it around," Harry replied sarcastically.

As she glowered at him, he softened:

"Yes, I was planning to do on Sunday, when we go to the Burrow."

Hermione let out a squeal that made Harry glad he had cast Muffliato and proceeded to give him a hug so tight he could barely breathe but that he happily returned.

"Do you reckon she'll say yes?" Harry finally asked with some uncertainty, reminding her of a younger version of him.

"Harry, honestly. If you don't propose soon, I think she'll just kidnap you and elope with you."

That made him laugh.

"I think you're right. How do you think Ron will take it?" he asked anxiously.

"Well, let's see, who do you think would be a better match for his little sister? Besides, he seemed okay this morning with ...erm..."

"Ginny sleeping with me," Harry completed for her.

"Well, yes, that," she said with a faint blush.

"It's funny, you know," he said casually.

"What is?"

"You blush at that but you are perfectly fine, Ron and you, showing up every morning at my breakfast table, bearing the evidence of what you've done the night before, or sometimes the hour before and do I complain?"

Hermione was now a perfect shade of scarlet and profoundly mortified.

"What evidence?" she finally squealed.

"The grin, the relaxed demeanour, and Ron always looks like he's been hit by a bludger, repeatedly."

"Oh..."

Harry barked out a laugh.

"It's all right, you know. You two are a lot less high-strung now. It just distracts me, or disgusts me, depending on the day."

He casually wrapped an arm around her shoulders and finally told her:

"I'm happy, Hermione."

She beamed back at him.

"And I'm very happy for Ron and you. I should've figured this before but you two belong together."

She murmured a shy thank you before wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him. She understood Harry's happiness because she felt the exact same way.

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><p>Narcissa immediately recognised the seal from the Ministry of Magic and hurried to open it as the owl quickly flew away. The missive was addressed to both Lucius and her and came from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, requesting their presence at a meeting the following week to discuss issues about house elves.<p>

This couldn't be a coincidence. The Mudblood was behind this, working on the last part of their deal. That was actually a good thing, the last hoop to jump through and things could go back to normal, even if it would be a new normal.

She sought Lucius in the large and handsome mansion. It was his chance too, a real opportunity if seized. She went through all the rooms, leaving the one she dreaded most for last: his bedroom. She hadn't set foot in it in a long time. Did she even want to? Letter in hand, she resolved herself and knocked lightly on the majestic oak door.

"Go away! Don't you know to clean the room when I'm not in?"

"Lucius! Open," she demanded before adding more softly: "please."

"Cissy?" came his surprised voice from behind the door, which soon opened for her.

Setting foot in the room was like greeting an old friend. She started scrutinising to find the changes amongst all the familiarities. The bed cover was still a silky emerald-coloured duvet she had had made years ago from the finest yarn and her favourite armchair was still there, albeit moved by the fireplace instead of by the window where she had liked it. She was also encouraged to see he had kept the family portrait above the mantel of the fireplace. He was sitting in her old comfortable armchair, reading. And on the heirloom table that had once belonged to Druella Rosier, where there should have been a teapot and matching cup, sat a decanter and a mostly empty crystal glass.

"Starting early on your drinking, I see," she told him haughtily.

"Starting early on your nagging," he replied pleasantly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in my room? After all it's not something that has happened much as of late."

"Just look in a mirror and you'll know why, Lucius," she replied cuttingly.

She walked toward him, holding the letter to his attention.

"We received this from the ministry."

She handed him the letter and he quickly read.

"What is that?"

"Obviously a letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"I can read, Cissy," he replied slightly annoyed. "Is that part of your deal with the Mudblood?"

"Our deal," she amended. "I presume so."

"No, Darling, your deal."

"You were part of it and signed on it, so it's your deal as well, even if Draco and I have done all the work."

This piqued his attention.

"And what work is that, Cissy?"

Maybe it was time to tell Lucius about the work at Greengrass's ward.

"We are volunteering at St Mungo's."

"Is that where you go when you disappear?" he finally caught on.

She gave a deep sigh and nodded affirmatively. Understanding dawned on his face and a look of regret briefly appeared before it was replaced by the usual stony face.

"And what kind of volunteer work are we talking about?"

"It matters not, Lucius. What matters is that we are on the verge of being able to make a prominent donation to the hospital and be featured as benefactors of St Mungo's once more. This is good for us, it will allow us to get some power again. Don't you see? If we finish that part of the deal, we are free from it."

"Are we really, Cissy? When we have to degrade ourselves to working with a filthy Mudblood and bend to her mad expectations about vermin like house elves?"

"It won't be the first time you have to be convincing about something you don't truly believe, will it?"

"Are you suggesting I lie, Cissy?"

"I am suggesting you see the truth. If we don't fulfil our portion of the deal, remember what will happen."

He dismissed her:

"The Mudblood wouldn't kill us."

"There are fates worse than death," she told him. "Think, Lucius, this is our path out. This is what we can do to reclaim our status," she raised her voice at his apathy before adding in a soft and pleading voice: "I miss you, Lucius. I want my husband back."

He moved closer to her and tentatively raised a shaking hand towards her arm before dropping it. Yet, she knew she was victorious when he just told her:

"I'll come with you."

"Thank you," she told him before retreating out of the room. She didn't hear his "I miss you too" as she closed the door.

* * *

><p>"What did Harry want to talk about?" Ron asked casually.<p>

"Oh, just some decision about whether to make the fireplace bigger in the drawing room," Hermione lied boldly.

"You know, I've always been impressed that Hermione Granger, witch extraordinaire and defender of everything that's good and fair, can lie with such aplomb."

"Where did you learn this word?" she eluded his question with one of her own.

"Fleur. It's French, isn't it? What did Harry and you talk about?" he pushed.

"It's for Harry to tell you."

"So it has to do with some personal problem of Harry's. Something he won't talk to me about."

"Who says he won't talk to you?"

"So he was asking for your opinion before he talks with me," Ron deduced before his face illuminated with a smug smile.

"It's about Ginny, isn't it?"

She was torn between annoyance at how easily he had got the information out of her and how brilliant he had been in his deduction. He was definitely cut out to be an Auror.

"Maybe," she replied evasively as he came to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist before gently nibbling on her neck.

"Maybe?"

She just sighed happily under his kisses, until he sucked tenderly on her ear lobe and was rewarded by a low moan.

"Is it about Ginny?" he asked again between two kisses.

"Yes," she acknowledged without thought, loving his lips and hands on her.

"We'll finish tonight," he whispered in her ear as he regretfully took his lips from her tender and soft smelling skin, wanting nothing more than just throw her on his bed and have his way with her but knowing that would make both of them quite late for work.

"Ron," she cried with pent-up need.

He thought again about whether being late might be an option.

"You purposely seduced me to get information."

He smiled smugly:

"Might have, but that was quite enjoyable."

She let out a cry of exasperation before stabbing her index in his chest:

"That was low."

"It worked," he shrugged unapologetically.

"And who's frustrated now?" she asked him shrewdly.

"Well, I may be but let's face it, you're worse."

She was about to say something when he cut her off with a wild and searing kiss, leaving her breathless.

"That should hold us until tonight," he told her with mischief. "Love you," he added before quickly Disapparating to the Auror department, leaving her flustered and annoyed.

* * *

><p>"Draco," the familiar drawl greeted him. "I didn't expect you here."<p>

"Nice to see you too, Father."

Both men immediately ceased any further conversation as Narcissa stared at them with a raised eyebrow. Now wasn't the time to squabble over petty family differences. No, they had finally come together as a group for the first time since the deal was originally struck with the Mudblood. It was time to put an end to the charade.

"Ma'am, sir, sir, you'll need to leave your wands here. Ministry security," a young man of no more than eighteen informed them as they registered their name on the visitor log.

"Ministry security?" Lucius repeated with contempt as he handed the wooden stick. "As if such a thing has ever existed," he added for his wife and son only.

He was surprised to see Draco give a hint of a smirk and more so to feel pleased by that.

They filed in a row and were led to the bowels of the ministry where the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures stood. There, they found a small windowless room filled with just a table, four chairs, and Hermione, all alone.

"Sit down, please," Hermione asked the three of them.

Saying she felt confident would have been a gross overstatement. She knew how much was riding on the issue of the meeting, yet she had insisted on meeting them alone. She wasn't scared of them, knowing the Malfoys made for one of the most pathetic bunch of cowards there could be. Yet, the memories they evoked still haunted her. She decided to just cut to the chase.

"We're here to discuss the last part of our deal. After this, we will be done. You'll just have to hold your vow of not using magic for nefarious purposes or otherwise suffer consequences."

"And what consequences would that be?" Lucius asked casually, sniggering contemptuously at her.

"Loss of your magical powers for a period commensurate with the gravity of the offence," Hermione replied sharply and saw any of her lingering insecurities vanish as quickly as the smug smile on Lucius's face.

"You would turn us into Squibs?" he asked incredulously.

"Actually, you would do that to yourself," Hermione replied calmly. "As you may or may not know, no wizard can steal magic from another one," she proceeded to explain. "Yet, it seems magic has a mind of its own, just like wands. If magic senses it's being used for evil purposes, it can stop flowing through a person."

"Then how do you explain what the Dark Lord or even Grindelwald have been able to do, Granger?" Draco asked her pointedly.

There was some small satisfaction in seeing Draco acknowledge that Voldemort's actions had been evil. She calmly replied:

"Because the last part is that the wizard needs to have made a conscious choice to renounce their magic rather than see it used for evil purposes. This was first done by a secret group in the seventeenth century. Their enemies figured that the best way to hurt them was to make them use their magic to hurt their fellow group members. So they devised the spell. That way, if they were caught by the other group, they could do no further harm to their own. I know, a sense of sacrifice you three may not understand but it worked in their favour in the end. All they had to do was to seal the choice by an unbreakable vow."

"You tricked us," Lucius spat.

"I didn't," Hermione replied evenly. "Magic is power and with it comes great responsibility. I was clear you would be greatly incapacitated. Besides, you really have control here," she added thinking that it was more than they deserved.

"Preposterous," Lucius burst before Narcissa silenced him with a steely glare.

"So, why did you invite us here today, Miss Granger, besides bringing light to the details of the deal? We are actually now near the end of our agreement."

"I don't see a donation to St Mungo's," Hermione replied.

"We're working on it, Granger," Draco replied with a drawl. "Will happen soon."

"Very well," Hermione said. "I suppose that working in Castor Greengrass's ward is helping. Good. His work is actually quite important and I am surprised, happily surprised, that you are willing to help advance the cause of werewolves."

She saw shock register on Lucius's face and deduced he hadn't known of his son's and wife's involvement with werewolves.

"You're working with werewolves," he hissed at Narcissa.

"Shush, Lucius," she curtly dismissed him. "The last part of the deal is to support a cause of your choice, which I presume is why we received this invitation."

"That's correct," Hermione confirmed. "House-elves."

"Worthless vermin," Lucius muttered under his breath.

"You will need to be more convincing, Mr Malfoy," Hermione told him coolly. "You will sponsor my law project for better treatment of house-elves, including compulsory payment for their services, ban on any cruel treatment, and establishment of safe houses for house elves who are emancipated."

"And what makes you think our sponsorship would help with this matter?" Lucius asked pointedly.

"It is part of the deal!" Hermione answered somewhat heatedly. "Remember what will happen if you don't keep up with the deal."

"Mother and I are," Draco pointed out. "And Father has a point, Granger," Draco added. "I don't think the Malfoy name will help you get any law passed. You and your two friends made sure of that," he finished with some resentment.

Hermione hadn't anticipated this turn of events. What had she expected exactly when she had agreed to negotiate with people like the Malfoys? Maybe Ron had been right from the start and she should just have gone on with telling everyone what had transpired at Malfoy Manor and the three people currently sat in front of her would instead be rotting away in one of Azkaban cells

What purposes would that have served? She had made sure that the punishment wasn't entirely about revenge but also benefited others who had suffered a lot more than she had during the war.

And now, when it came to her piece de resistance, she was stuck with the Malfoys' usual contempt. Her brain worked frantically to find a solution. She knew she had an advantage. Maybe work with Narcissa, she was after all the most cool-headed of the trio. Their eyes met and Hermione recognised in the older woman the look of cogitation, probably of how to get out of the deal as unscathed and agrandised as possible.

"Miss Granger, you do realise that our sponsorship will not help you in your endeavour and will damage us in the process. Maybe we could explore another angle so we can quickly put this deal behind us."

Why it took Narcissa saying it for her to see there was truth unfortunately in that pronouncement, Hermione had no idea. However, the more she looked at it, the less likely it was that a Malfoy support would help her get the law passed. Yet, Hermione felt strongly they should play a role in advancing house-elves cause, even if only for atonement purposes. As she pondered her options, a thought finally emerged:

"Very well, here's what we can work on. I recently met an elf who was freed and had nowhere to go. We need a center to care for house-elves when they are emancipated, a place where free elves can get back on their feet and to be educated about their rights."

"Are you suggesting we sponsor this place instead?" Lucius asked. "I still don't want my name associated with that kind of lunacy."

"Neither do I," Hermione told him. "The place will be named after Dobby. I think you knew him, didn't you?"

Lucius stared at her furiously and she felt bolstered by it:

"It's high time you finally acknowledged Dobby for the wonderful being he was. I'll let you figure out what's the best way for you to do that besides pouting indignantly but I daresay it probably will include your solution for many things: throwing gold at it."

"Wait a minute," Narcissa cut out the nasty comment that was burgeoning in Lucius's throat. "If we assist financially with this endeavour, I want our generosity to be publicly acknowledged."

Hermione felt some relief. Things might be working out in the end. Of course, she would have to tell Hobbes she hadn't garnered the Malfoys support for her law project but in the end, she thought it was for the best.

"I think that can happen," Hermione said, although I need to consult the department."

"Then I think we have an agreement," Narcissa said evenly.

"We might," Hermione agreed.

"Then I think we are done here. Good day," Narcissa bade curtly as she rose and, imitated by her son and husband, left the room and Hermione thinking of how she would get Hobbes to accept this new development.

* * *

><p>"So, Harry, what is it about Ginny that you needed to talk with Hermione this morning," Ron asked casually as he finished reading for the third time the report of an interview they had had with one of Jocasta's many acquaintances.<p>

"I don't know what you are talking about," Harry replied just as casually, fighting hard to keep his face impassible.

"You're just as terrible a liar as she is, you know."

"Did you make her talk?"

"Well, I have my ways," Ron answered with a smile much too smug for Harry's taste. "But obviously, there was something to talk about, you just said so yourself."

Harry sighed. Ron's power of observation made him a great chess player and a gifted Auror. It also made him a friend too nosy for his own good on occasion.

"Fine," Harry finally relinquished as he drew a small box from his pocket and threw it at Ron who caught it with unerring precision.

He opened the velvet container to reveal a ring.

"You know, that's not the best way to propose to me, throwing the thing at me. Besides, I'm really not interested. Sorry to break your heart, but you're not my chosen one."

"Haha," Harry said mirthlessly.

"When are you gonna give it to her?" Ron asked him seriously.

"Sunday, at the Burrow."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Ron said. "She's a strong one, Ginny is. She'll keep you on your toes," Ron added with a mischievous smile.

"So, you're not... I dunno... not okay with me asking Ginny to marry me?"

"Why would I be?" Ron said. "She found a decent bloke and she knows how to deal with you."

And in an unusual display of affection, Ron rose from his chair and went to give Harry a hug as tight as any Mrs Weasley could have mustered.

"What's going on here?" Neville said as he walked on the two friends hugging.

"Nothing," Harry replied in a somewhat croaky voice.

"No, nothing," Ron added in an equally gravelly voice.

"Okay, then," Neville said, obviously unconvinced. "I'll pretend I didn't see anything. I do have something new, though."

"Yeah?" Ron encouraged Neville to continue.

"I went through the log Greengrass gave us. I found three patients whose treatment required all the ingredients."

"How did you do that?" Ron asked, amazed by the work of Neville. The log had been as thick as one of Hermione's beloved tomes.

"I used a spell I learnt in Herbology," Neville replied humbly. "It organizes things in rows and columns, much easier that way to look for patterns."

"Like a com-pew-tor," Ron said with a fascination reminiscent of his father.

"A com-pew what?" Neville asked.

"A computer," Harry offered. "Muggle invention that organizes stuff and makes loads of calculations."

"Oh, yeah, I suppose. Anyway, I went and dug more in the three patients' records. Two of them seemed completely legitimate in getting the ingredients, but the third one, Alfred Miller, seems to be receiving a lot of ingredients, especially for someone with extensive Spattergroit."

Ron and Harry exchanged a brief amused look at the mention of the disease that had supposedly condemned Ron to a prolonged bed stay.

"Are you saying we have a patient receiving the wrong ingredients?" Ron said, following Neville's train of thought.

"I am not a potioneer, but I know from Herbology that the mix of these two plants would be lethal to anyone with a heartbeat," he said pointing to two plants with names too long to be pronounced.

"That's brilliant, Neville," Ron told him with genuine admiration.

"It really is," Harry agreed. "So now I s'pose we need to interview the healer in charge."

"Yeah, I think so. I was going to let Higgins know."

He finished his sentence as a dejected-looking Hermione made her way next to them.

She perked up a bit at their sight and returned Neville's welcoming smile half-heartedly.

"Hi, Neville."

Sensing the trio needed some time alone, Neville made a quick excuse and left them.

"What is it, Love?" Ron asked her as he quickly came to hold her in his arms.

"I had the meeting with the Malfoys."

"How are the bastards doing?" Ron asked in a half attempt at humour.

"They're fine," she answered.

"But you're not," Harry said. "They didn't take your offer, I gather."

"I got something else. You two were right."

Ron was thinking his ears were deceiving him upon hearing Hermione acknowledging she had been wrong but bit his tongue as he knew the effort it must have cost her.

"Getting the Malfoys' support for my law project was a bad idea. Everybody can see that, except me, it seems, or Hobbes."

"Trust me, Hermione," Harry said supportively, "it's their loss, not yours."

"I can see that now. But Hobbes didn't. Since I wasn't able to get the Malfoys' sponsorship, he won't let me propose the law project."

"What an arse," Ron interjected before an idea suddenly hit him. "Wait, why do you need Hobbes to propose the law project?"

"Yeah," Harry added, seeing where Ron was going, "all you need is enough signatures from the wizarding population and the law project can be presented to the Wizengamot."

She smiled at both of them with gratitude.

"Who will sign for such a project besides me? Remember, most think like Hobbes. I'm Muggle-born and have no business changing something that I supposedly don't understand. All I've heard so far is that wizards are quite content with the current status of house elves."

"Because they don't know better," Ron said.

"But the elves are still being treated like they are lower than dirt."

Ron had to acknowledge she had a point when an idea struck him.

"Maybe it's time the membership of SPEW got more engaged in its mission."

"We are the membership," she said somewhat dejectedly.

"Exactly. And it's not like we can't provide some celebrity endorsement."

"Ron has a point. That's one area where I can happily use fame," Harry added.

"You'd do that for me?" Hermione asked with a slight note of incredulity.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"The lack of faith, Hermione, honestly... but no, it wouldn't be for you," he added seriously. "It'd be for Dobby. It's time the wizarding world knew that if not for Dobby, Voldemort'd probably be in charge."

She engulfed both in a tight hug, strong enough to crack ribs.

"Thank you. There's another problem though."

"Yeah?" Ron prodded.

"Well, Narcissa and I reached an agreement on them financing part of the elf-welfare centre I want to develop."

"I assume she wants some recognition for that," Harry said.

"Indeed. Hobbes also shot this idea down."

"I repeat, what an arse, and more importantly, why do we need him?" Ron challenged her.

"Are you worried about the gold?" Harry asked.

"While the Malfoys can contribute a sizable amount, it still won't be enough without ministry help."

"Well, if the Goblins don't give me too hard a time, you know I will be very happy to contribute too," Harry offered.

"I'll give you some too," Ron added, "although it won't amount to much," he added with his eyes downcast, gold, or the lack thereof, still being a somewhat touchy topic for him.

"Thank you," she said by rising on her toes and giving him a gentle peck on the lips.

"I think I have an idea," she announced in a very Hermione tone. "Fundraising."

"Come again," Ron said.

"You're right, Ron," she said enthusiastically.

"I am?"

"Yes, I don't need Hobbes. SPEW can sponsor the new centre and the law. And we can have some type of fundraising evening to get the funds to start on the centre."

"All right," Ron said, understanding where Hermione was going. "Does that mean you will throw a party with the Malfoys as your guests?"

"It's up to them to show up, but yes, I guess I will."

"Can't say I like this idea," Ron said mournfully.

"Well, they would never rank as my first choice for guests," Hermione admitted. "But after this, we're done with my plan, the Malfoys will have made amends for some of their past deeds, even if their arm had to be twisted, and," she raised a hand to silence Ron who was about to speak again, "most importantly, house elves will receive better treatment."

"What about you?" Ron finally spoke the words that had been hanging on his lips. "What did you get for what they did to you?"

"Ron," she sighed at the familiarity of this argument. "I know how you feel about this. I appreciate it, really. But I can't change what happened nor can I forget it. Would having them thrown in prison have produced the same? Look, I have everything that's near and dear to me: you, Harry, my family, yours, friends and the potential to help elves. That's what matters to me. That's what makes me happy. That's what they can't touch anymore."

She was looking at him expectantly, hoping her argument would one day make sense to him too but knowing it never might. He closed his eyes for one moment, as if trying to gather words as she tenderly squeezed his hand.

Harry, who had been an unwitting witness to their exchange finally spoke, breaking the heavy silence.

"Looks like we have a party to organize then."

"And a murder to solve," Ron added in a low voice, seeking a well needed change of topic.

"How's the enquiry going?" Hermione asked, equally happy at the new direction of the conversation, even if it now touched the grisly topic of a gruesome murder.

"Neville has a lead with the poison," Harry said. "And we still have two other 'friends' of Jocasta's to interview."

"Hopefully these ones won't hit on Neville," Ron added with a smile. "The woman had many friends, all more interested in how she was killed and what gossip they can get."

"Well," Hermione said encouragingly, "I know you'll solve it."

She took a brief glance at the clock on the wall and asked them:

"It's five o'clock. Care for a butterbeer? After all, as Harry said, we have a party to plan."

* * *

><p><strong>AN **_Thank you for reading. Hopefully you'll be kind enough to review too ;)_


	23. Plans

**A/N** _I am back...__ More investigation, awkward moments, and questions about Draco's real motivations in this chapter. Hope you enjoy.  
><em>

**Disclaimer: **_nope, as much as I wish otherwise, still not mine._

* * *

><p><strong> Chapter 23: Plans<strong>

There had been many times when Harry had been scared, probably too many to count, or other times when he had been watched by many eyes. The old sitting room was familiar with its comfortable and well worn furniture, odd assortment of knickknacks, and clock with many hands. The people in it were all equally familiar and he would have given his life for any of them without a second thought. Yet, he had to swallow the hard ball that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat as all eyes were turned on him expectantly. And two stood out, their warm hazel colour both bolstering him with their warm love and increasing his anxiety with their questioning and daring look.

He finally took a deep breath and as he held the box to Ginny asked in a single breath:

"Willyoumarryme?"

And for one moment, all attention shifted to Ginny who asked him very calmly:

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I didn't hear."

Harry didn't miss the knowing twin sniggers that formed at the corners of Ron's and George's mouths. Bill was more adept at trying to hide it but still had a peculiar twinkle lighting up his scarred face. Even Percy seemed slightly amused. Percy? Really? As for Charlie, his eyes never left Harry, reminding the latter of a conversation they had had last Christmas, involving what world of hurt and dragons Harry would find himself into if he ever broke Ginny's heart.

Calling upon all his Gryffindor courage, Harry finally slowly enunciated:

"Ginevra Molly Weasley, will you marry me?"

"He called her Ginevra. The bloke really has a death wish," George whispered in Ron's ear before being kicked under the table by Angelina and letting out a silent yelp of pain.

Ginny looked at Harry, as if considering, and remained utterly silent. Even though it was a brisk autumn night and there was only a light fire dancing in the fireplace, perspiration was starting to bead on Harry's forehead. He wanted to look around to find some endorsement, seek Hermione's kind eyes or Mrs Weasley's, both of whom he knew would give him unconditional support. His eyes, however, seemed to be immobilised in their sockets and could only look at Ginny, her gorgeous face, her fiery hair, her soft hazel eyes, which told him of her answer before she said it aloud:

"Yes, I will. But don't ever call me Ginevra if you want to remain the boy who lived."

And she wrapped her arms fiercely around his neck, pulling him into a long kiss that knocked his glasses askew. He heard the thunder of clapping hands and wild whistles of encouragement as the extended Weasley clan came to congratulate the newly betrothed all as one.

Soon, the bottles of wine and spirit were out as the boisterous group celebrated. Hermione came to sit next to Harry and gave him a big happy smile.

"I told you she'd say yes. I'm so happy for you," she told him as she gave him a light peck on the cheek.

Harry just engulfed her in a tight hug that made her laugh. He wondered when it would be Ron and Hermione's turn, as he knew there would be a turn for them too. Whenever it came, he would be ready to support his two friends, and gift them with unbreakable china, as he held no doubt that their married life would still include copious amounts of bickering. How strange that two people who argued so much could love each other so much.

From his corner of the room, Ron was observing Harry and Hermione, their complicity and smiled to himself. It was odd not being jealous of their interactions, like he had been in the past. But he had seen Harry with Ginny and, more importantly, he had seen Hermione with him, under him, over him, surrounding him. There was no more doubt. For some mental reasons, while Hermione loved Harry like a brother, she was **in l**ove with him, Ron Weasley. This constant realisation always filled his heart with pride and now wasn't an exception as his thoughts got entirely invaded by Hermione, until he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

"Dad," he smiled as he turned back to his father.

"So, when are you proposing?" Arthur asked amiably.

Ron had expected the question would surface sooner or later. After all, it had been on his own mind since before Harry even drew a velvet box of his pocket, probably since that kiss during the battle, or even before, when he had stayed by her bedside at Shell Cottage while she recovered from the events of Malfoy Manor. But all good things came in due time, Ron thought wisely of the words the man standing in front of him had repeated so often during his childhood.

"Dad, I know you and Mum were married and had, well, erm, got Bill on the way by when you were our age," Ron started. "But I reckon we've got time."

Arthur frowned slightly and Ron continued:

"Well, the war's over so there's no urgency. And we definitely want to wait for the baby part."

"I suppose you're just practicing right now," Arthur deadpanned and had the satisfaction of seeing his son's ears turn a nice shade of pink.

"A lot," Ron coughed out before carrying on seriously:

"Hermione wants to reform the house elves rights first and I wanna be a full Auror. Besides, I need to find a new place to live."

"Do you?" Arthur asked, somewhat puzzled.

"If Harry and Ginny get married, she'll come and live at Grimmauld Place. They'll need their space..."

"I'm sure the wedding won't happen overnight," Arthur said reassuringly.

"I know," Ron replied. "And it's not like Harry is kicking us out either but I want to have my own place."

"Of course you do," Arthur said proudly.

"I started saving, actually. And that's the other reason I'm not proposing: I don't have any gold for a ring."

"I don't think the lovely Miss Granger gives much about a ring," quipped George who had surreptitiously approached the group.

"But she deserves one," Ron replied defensively.

"'f course, she does," George replied with a grin. "All I'm saying is that shouldn't be what stops you from asking her. Besides, only Charlie is supposed to remain single, unless you count the dragons."

While Ron smiled, Arthur gave a disapproving look to George who defended himself:

"Come on, Dad, you know Charlie, don't you? That doesn't mean he's living like a monk, mind you."

"Don't let your mother hear you," Arthur warned with a half smile.

"But back to you, Ron," George pursued much more seriously, "I can give you the gold for a ring."

"You would?" Ron asked somewhat touched.

"I definitely would," George replied in all seriousness.

"Thanks, George," Ron said gratefully. "But I want to do this on my own, the place to live, the ring."

"Suit yourself," George replied without heat. "But you know where to find me if you change your mind," he added with a wink as he left Arthur and Ron alone again.

Arthur remained silent for a moment as he absorbed what had just transpired between his two youngest sons and felt a gush of paternal pride. Finally, he coughed lightly and said:

"So, Ron, what was that thing you wanted to talk about?"

"Ah yeah. It's a fundraiser that we are putting together..."

"And?"

"Well, it's for house-elves."

"Ah yes, Hermione is very passionate about them," Arthur replied with affection. "She has a point, though, some of them are treated horribly."

"Well, we, Harry, Hermione and me, we want to open a centre for house-elves after they are freed."

"Not something that happens often," Arthur noted.

"I know. But the other part of the plan is to propose a law that would protect house-elves from abuse."

Arthur chuckled lightly.

"Somehow, I am quite convinced that if anyone can change the way house-elves are treated, it is our dear Hermione. I have total faith in her. But you say you need a building."

"Yes, we do."

"Well, I know of this old building the ministry doesn't know what to do with. It's not far from Diagon Alley. I think it's rather decrepit because of the lack of use but you're wizards after all, aren't you? I'll see what it'd take to use it for your centre."

Ron gave his father a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Dad. That'll definitely make Hermione's day."

"I think, my dear, that this is your responsibility, actually."

"I s'ppose it is, yeah." Ron agreed with a dreamy look aimed at the bushy-haired girl across the room.

* * *

><p>"What do you figure Greengrass wants with us?" Draco asked his mother. "We've held our part of the deal and I now even work for him."<p>

"I don't know, Draco, but we shall find shortly, shan't we?"

She knocked lightly on the door that was ajar.

"Come in," Castor invited them cordially.

They did as they were told and found the Potioneer comfortably sat in his high back leather chair, reading a letter, and smiling fondly.

"Ha, Mrs Malfoy, Mr Malfoy, please have a seat," he invited them. "I'm finishing reading a letter from my daughter, telling me about her latest adventures at Hogwarts."

Draco's eyes automatically veered toward the photograph of the two Greengrass sisters that sat on their father's desk. Even though she had been in his year, he had never paid much attention to Daphne. But then there was Astoria, the weird little sister who, for some reason he couldn't pinpoint, he seemed oddly attracted to.

"That's right, Mr Malfoy, you were in Daphne's year at Hogwarts and I think you've met Astoria a few times," Castor said in a neutral tone that didn't make up for his intense blue eyes glaring in a way that made Draco recoil.

"The reason I asked to meet you is simple. I know we had an understanding. You volunteer for my ward and I will use my influence with the St Mungo's Board of Governors and your volunteering to help you get the chance to make a public donation to St Mungo's."

"Are you changing this understanding, Mr Greengrass," Narcissa asked sharply.

"No, not at all. I'm a man of my word, Mrs Malfoy. I asked you here today because I think you've upheld your part of the deal, which I sincerely didn't expect you too."

"The vote of confidence," Draco pointed sarcastically.

"Now, Mr Malfoy, as I've told you, I find sarcasm to be an overrated trait. I was just referencing to your track record. Your family has a history of double crossing everyone, after all."

"Will you help us with making our contribution," Narcissa cut in as she put a gentle but firm hand on Draco's forearm.

"Yes, Mrs Malfoy. The next board meeting is in two weeks and I've requested an agenda item. I've also spoken with a few governors and you should have no problem making an acknowledged contribution."

It was mild, but it was a genuine smile that adorned Narcissa's face. Finally, all her efforts were paying off and she was getting her status back. Oh, she was aware that it didn't mean she would gain affection or even respect but gold always had a way to speak to that. It was rather simple, really.

"I see you're pleased, Mrs Malfoy," Castor noticed a bit sadly. "Well, I think this will make you even happier. You're now free to stop volunteering. As I've said, I'm a man of my word."

Narcissa's thoughts quickly changed to the last few months working with the patients of Greengrass's ward. She certainly wouldn't miss the contact with half-beasts. Yet, she felt a small pang of sadness at the thought she wouldn't see Mary anymore.

"I do have this for you," Castor said as he pulled a piece of parchment from his drawer. There was a drawing of two crude characters, that Narcissa recognised as herself and little Mary.

"At least one patient will be missing you," Castor told her.

Narcissa grabbed the drawing with a pale and well manicured hand. It was also slightly trembling and her feeling of elation the thought of regaining her status had a elicited a moment ago was suddenly dampened. Visits with Draco and the time she had spent in that ward had brought unexpected moments of joy in her life this past year. Her decision came quickly, not unlike the one she had made almost two years before, the one that had changed the fate of the wizarding world.

"Is it possible for me to continue volunteering, especially with Mary?"

Castor looked at her with his piercing blue eyes, inclining his head slightly to the left while he pondered.

"Truth be told, this is unexpected, Mrs Malfoy," he finally told her in a low voice, "but I would be glad if you could continue your volunteering. And what about you, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco was suddenly pulled out of the whirlwind his mind had plunged into when Greengrass had announced he had secured their ability to make a public donation to St Mungo's. This changed a lot of things.

"What about me?" Draco repeated.

"Will you continue your work as a Potioneer?"

Draco held the piercing gaze defiantly before asking in a lazy drawl:

"And why would I?"

Castor barked a short laugh.

"Because you're enjoying it, young Mr Malfoy. Don't deny it, I've seen you."

"Maybe you're mistaken."

"Perhaps, but it'd be a pity if you stopped. Despite all, I think you're talented."

"I know I am," Draco replied immodestly.

"Now is your real chance to show you can actually do something good. Seize it," Castor advised.

"I'll think of it," Draco said noncommittally, even though his decision was already made.

"Very well," Castor replied amiably.

He rose and was soon imitated by both Narcissa and Draco.

"One last thing before we part, since the volunteering was only done by the pair of you, I will only advocate for your two names to be acknowledged."

"And Lucius?" Narcissa asked.

"He wasn't part of this," Castor simply stated.

"I see," Narcissa replied icily.

And she did as she couldn't deny that Lucius had done nothing to help her and Draco. No matter, she would handle Lucius as this was too good an opportunity to pass.

"Besides," Castor added, "I don't think it'll be an issue, seeing that you and husband are also sponsoring a new house-elf centre. By the way, Eurydice and I will be happy to attend the fundraiser. Good bye, now," he said in a cheerful tone that belied the abrupt dismissal.

* * *

><p>"So, did Harry do it?" asked Neville with eagerness.<p>

"Yes, he did," came Ron's smug reply.

"And?"

"Ginny said yes and promised to kill him if he ever called her Ginevra again."

Neville gave a wide grin.

"That sounds like Ginny. I'm really happy for them."

"Happy for who?" enquired Higgins who was just walking in.

"Harry. He's just got engaged."

"Ah yeah, your sister, Weasley, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Ron confirmed.

"That's splendid. And speaking of Potter, where is he?"

"I'm here," Harry said slightly out of breath as he stepped out of the fireplace and started wiping away the soot off of his Auror-in-training robes.

"Good. Congratulations on your engagement, Potter."

"Erm, thanks," Harry accepted shyly.

"Now, let's talk about the Jameson case. We have to go to St Mungo's today and also one last interview of another of Mrs Jameson's friends: Phoebe McPherson. Her name was given by Mr Jameson himself, although we had to prod. Miss McPherson was on holiday in the South of France and just came back. From what we've learnt, she and Jocasta weren't exactly in speaking terms but still worth a shot."

Neville, Harry, and Ron nodded in agreement.

"I propose we split up today," Higgins said. "Longbottom, you'll come with me to St Mungo's to talk further with Castor Greengrass about what you discovered. Potter, Weasley, you'll go to Kent to see Miss McPherson. Same interview as with the other friends. Try to explore that other man angle."

Neville and Higgins disappeared in a cloud of green smoke in the fireplace.

"Can we Disapparate?" Harry asked Ron while using his wand to remove the last traces of soot from his robes.

"Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, vanquisher of you-know-who..."

"Voldemort," Harry automatically corrected.

"Vanquisher of Voldemort, and unable to use Floo travel properly," Ron ribbed Harry gently. "Oh well, I'm sure Miss McPherson will be happier if we don't barge in her fireplace."

And with small pops, they vanished from the Auror department and made their way to Kent.

* * *

><p>The halls of St Mungo's were all too familiar to Neville, reminding him of all the times he had got there with his gran, to that special ward on the fourth floor, to see parents who didn't remember their own name, let alone who their son was. He had long suffered under the burden too heavy for any child and made worse by the constant comparisons to his father his gran had loved to make. It had only been in his last year at Hogwarts, before and after the Battle that he had finally understood the suffering was not just his own, but was deeply shared by Augusta. While the war had torn many family apart, it had brought him much closer to his gran. She had supported him when he had revived Dumbledore's army, had told him many times how proud she was of him.<p>

"You don't like it here, do you?" Higgins asked perceptively.

"Never did," Neville replied laconically.

"Ha, I can understand," Higgins told him with compassion.

They kept walking in a silence only broken by the noise of their boots against the immaculate tiles.

"He was a great man, Frank, your father."

Neville stopped in his tracks.

"You knew my father?"

"I was an Auror-in-training when... well, when it happened."

Neville didn't have to ask what the "it" was. It had shaped his entire life.

"Frank had worked with me on another mission. He had just made full Auror and he enjoyed his job. He was especially good at concealment."

Somehow, that made Neville smile.

"He'd be very proud of you. As a fact, I'm sure he is."

"He doesn't know who I am," Neville replied quietly.

"Don't say that, son. You don't know for sure."

They grew silent again until they arrived at Castor Greengrass's door. It was open and Greengrass was obviously expecting them.

"Morris, nice to see you," Castor greeted Higgins with a handshake and a pat on the back.

"Same here," Higgins replied.

"And Mr Longbottom, pleasure to see you again. So, what have you got for me?"

Higgins nudged Neville to talk, since Neville was the one who had connected the dots.

"I looked at the log you provided and I found issue with one patient," Neville started while Castor listened and started knitting his brows together.

"Which patient, Mr Longbottom?"

"Alfred Miller. Have a look," Neville replied as he handed to Castor the detail of his work.

"I must commend how you organized this Mr Longbottom, quite ingenious," Castor said with genuine admiration.

He read quickly and finally exclaimed:

"And Mr Miller is still alive, even after a mix like that?"

"Well, that's why we're here," Neville continued. "I figured that would snuff the life out of anyone with a beating heart and was wondering why would anyone prescribe these ingredients together."

"I wonder the same, Mr Longbottom," Castor said as he pulled a big register from a drawer. He cast a quick spell and the book started filling in with hundreds of inked lines.

"A spell similar to what you used," Castor grinned. "Andromeda once mentioned some contraptions that Muggle use -I think they are called computers- and the idea came," he explained. "Ha, here we are. Mr Miller's potions were ordered by Healer Isadora Smith. Yes, that sounds like what would be needed to deal with Spattergroit. But Miller also has potions ordered by Healer Elias Aldcott."

Castor knitted his eyebrows again. obviously perplexed.

"Is it common to have potions from two healers?"

"Actually, it happens often, especially for long term patients. But that's not the issue. I'm quite certain that Aldcott retired last year."

"Could we visit Mr Miller?" Neville asked.

"I'd be careful, he has Spattergroit and is highly contagious Also, he sleeps most of the time and can't talk since the Spattergroit reached his uvula. With this said, yes, you may visit Miller."

Castor quickly wrote something on a piece of parchment.

"Go to the second floor, ward for magical diseases. This will give you access to Miller. As for me, I'm going to investigate why we have ingredients ordered by Aldcott when the chap retired last year."

It took about fifteen minutes of meandering through the long and byzantine corridors of St Mungo's before Neville and Higgins reached the ward where Miller was.

Neville rang a bell at a reception area and a middle-aged witch turned her attention off from a hefty pile of paperwork and looked up at Neville.

"How may I help you?" she pleasantly asked.

Neville handed her the pass Castor had scribbled for them and she looked back at Neville with an ear to ear smile:

"You are Neville Longbottom? The one from the Battle of Hogwarts?" she asked somewhat incredulously.

"Erm, yes," Neville admitted uncomfortably, wondering how Harry had dealt with the fame for all these years.

To his surprise, the witch rose and gave him a tight hug.

"My son is in Hufflepuff. He was in his fourth year during the battle. He's told me about you and what you did. Thank you."

Neville was taken aback and more than slightly flustered. "But that's not why you're here," the witch continued. "You want to go to the third door on the left," she continued efficiently. "Miller is alone there. Well, he doesn't talk and sleeps most of the time. It should be potion time for him, actually," she added.

"Erm, thank you," Neville said shyly while Higgins had difficulty suppressing a low chuckle.

"You seem to have admirers everywhere, Longbottom. Potion time, she said. Well, that's a happy coincidence, isn't it?" Higgins said.

"Do you suggest we watch from afar?"

"Exactly," Higgins replied. "And that way we don't have to get too close to Mr Spattergroit."

Higgins used a quick concealment charm after they had positioned themselves in the corner of the room the farthest from the bed, where they had a good view of the patient and anyone who would come and work on him.

"This is disgusting," Higgins commented while looking at the poor Miller who was covered in angry pustules and seemed to be unconscious.

"Yeah, no desire to catch this, if you ask me," Neville agreed.

"But that's the perfect patient, isn't it? Nobody will get too close."

Higgins tapped gently on Neville's shoulder and motioned toward a witch who seemed to be bringing the daily dose of potions for the ward.

"Let's observe from here," Higgins suggested. "After all, from what you and Castor said, if she really gives him the potions prescribed, he'd be dead now, right?"

"Right," Neville confirmed.

"Then that means that something is happening to the potions," Higgins concluded.

The witch started taking several phials and swished her wand to get one in Alfred Miller's mouth. However, the next swish had the three remaining phials floating around toward the wall until they seem to disappear.

"Well, that's our answer. You think she's an accomplice?" Neville asked.

"Well, one way to know, we'll ask her," Higgins replied.

They waited for the witch to finish her task and leave the room. The moment she was out, Neville went by the bed and tried to find and open the concealed hideaway.

As he failed at both, Higgins swiftly removed the concealment charm that kept Neville and him invisible and they made their way to the corridor, calling for the witch who had not gone far.

"Miss?"

She stopped and turned around to face Neville and Higgins, a broad and vacant smile plastered on her face.

"May I help you, Sir?"

Neville and Higgins exchanged a quick look, both mouthing the word "Imperiused" at the same time.

"Miss Lambert," Neville said as he read the tag pinned to her robes, "Hello, we are with the Auror department. We are investigating something about Mr Miller."

"Poor man," the witch said with empathy. "He's been here for a while and seems unconscious today. He is most days: Spattergroit," she said apologetically. I just gave him his potion."

"What potion did you give him?"

She took a roll of parchment from her pocket and read to them all that was prescribed to Miller.

"See, these are the phials. I haven't vanished them yet," she said whilst producing four empty phials, three of which Neville suspected had been in her robe pockets all along.

"Do you have any idea what these potions do?" Higgins asked gently.

"No," she giggled. "I just administer them. I'm not a healer or a Potioneer."

"Miss Lambert, may we borrow your wand for a moment," Higgins asked.

"Of course," Lambert answered and handed out her wand.

"I see how she'd be easy to Imperius," Neville muttered under his breath while Higgins performed a Priori Incantato charm to see the last few spells performed by the wand.

"It's some kind of Fidelius charm," Higgins finally said. "Miss Lambert, please follow us," Morris asked her as he led her back by Miller's bedside. "Can you try casting the charm to open this wall again."

She looked at him deeply perplexed.

"I don't remember casting that charm. To be frank, that's a bit too advanced for me. I was never good at advanced charms," she replied apologetically.

"Try it, please," Higgins asked pleasantly.

She aimed the wand and stuck her tongue out as she concentrated. A faint form appeared on the wall and it finally opened, Lambert having unwittingly revealed the secret location to Neville and Higgins.

"I don't know how I did that," Lambert squealed in equal part amazement and delight.

"What are those in there?" she asked when she saw the phials that had vanished earlier.

"We need to ask you a few questions," Higgins replied.

It didn't take long to figure out that Lambert had indeed been Imperiused. She had been the caregiver for Miller since he had been admitted six months ago and it was blatant she was just a pawn in someone else's game, someone with a much more nefarious purpose. They let her go back to her duties and returned to Miller's room.

"Should we get the phials?" Neville asked.

"No, I think someone will want to get them and we'll just be there to catch him or her. Time to set a trap," Higgins said with a smile.

* * *

><p>"How are you going to tell Father?" Draco asked his mother as they shared a cup of tea and some shortbread biscuits in his flat.<p>

"Well," Narcissa started as she put the delicate cup back on its matching saucer and daintily dabbed her mouth with a lacy napkin, "Greengrass is correct, we did all the work and your father didn't help when he had an opportunity to do so. So the donation will be in your name and mine."

"You know I don't have enough to give to St Mungo's," Draco remarked. "And I don't want to use Father's gold."

"Nonsense. It's my gold too and I can use it as I see fit, Draco."

A brief and pregnant pause passed between them before Narcissa smiled affectionately and asked her son:

"So, you like Greengrass's daughter."

Draco found that his breath caught in his throat. Had he been that unsubtle while looking at the photograph that both his mother and Greengrass had noticed.

"Wasn't Greengrass's older daughter in your year at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, she was," he replied impassibly, not caring the least for Daphne.

Narcissa kept smiling, slightly amused.

"She would make a good wife. The Greengrass are purebloods and are well respected."

Draco bit his tongue. A year ago, she would have called Castor Greengrass a blood traitor. Had his mother really changed that much? And then it hit him: "well respected" meant the Greengrass had enough influence by his mother's standards. He repressed his urge to retort that was a good reason not to marry in the Malfoy family.

"Well, I should be on my way," Narcissa said with a sigh, thinking of the conversation she needed to have with Lucius. She Summoned the light cloak that was sitting neatly folded on the sofa and proceeded to put it on, quickly fastening the delicate clasp, adorned with pearls and emeralds. She gently caressed Draco's cheek, in a motherly gesture he didn't seem to oppose anymore. She noticed the rough stubble under her finger, a small reminder that her blond little boy had grown into a man, one she was proud of.

"People will give us our due respect soon again, you'll see, Draco."

He wanted to believe his mother, wanted to go back to a time when he didn't have to think and things always went his way. And wasn't she right? Gold bought power and with power came some respect, even if just feigned respect. But at least, he would be able to be freer in his movements again thanks to Greengrass helping them with the St Mungo's donation. Of course, there was the other little issue with the unbreakable vow. Greengrass's offer had come at a somewhat inopportune time and Draco now had to figure out how to amend his plan and get himself out a delicate situation. But he was clever and had no doubt he could.

Narcissa kissed her son on the cheek and Disapparated with barely a pop, leaving Draco alone with rampant thoughts. And then it came to him. It was so simple he might laugh. But it had been his plan all along. He had never had any intention to cover for the misdeeds of the other man, especially not that man. And how ironic was it that this would involve Potter, Weasley and probably Granger too. Their paths seemed fated to cross again, Draco thought with a sneer as he took his hazel wand and set out to work.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** _What is Draco up to? We'll see soon. Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated.  
><em>


	24. Together

**A/N** _Thank you to everyone who read and for the lovely reviews for last chapter. To this chapter: a bit more Ron/Hermione interaction in the midst of new developments for the murder investigation. Hope you enjoy..._

**Disclaimer:** _yeah, right..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24: Together<br>**

Ron let out a low whistle as a handsome mansion came in sight. Perched on a small hill and surrounded by the shade of majestic oaks, it exuded opulence and taste.

"Think of the upkeep," Harry told him jokingly. "Even with magic, this one has to be quite a bit of work to take care of. Besides, you have a house."

"Yeah, about that," Ron said as his hand nervously raked his hair and he stopped in his tracks. "I s'ppose that you and Ginny will want some space once you finally get hitched."

"Ron," Harry interrupted in a somewhat tired voice, "you can stay as long as you want at Grimmauld Place."

"I knew you'd say that," Ron replied quietly. "But it's not just to give Ginny and you some privacy. I want to get my own place and..."

Ron stopped and hesitated, trying to muster the courage to say what was on the tip of his tongue. Harry came to his rescue and completed the sentence with a broad grin:

"And take Hermione with you."

"Well, yeah," Ron finally admitted. "Although I don't want anything that posh," Ron added as he took another look at the mansion and used an elaborate brass knocker to advertise their presence.

They were greeted by a house-elf who quickly took them to a study bathed in the afternoon sunlight.

"Thank you, August," a plump woman told the elf.

She rose to her full height, which couldn't have been more than five feet, and introduced herself as Phoebe McPherson before asking them to sit down.

"Mrs McPherson," Harry began, "thank you for seeing us. We are with the Auror department and are investigating the murder of Jocasta Jameson. I believe she was one of your acquaintances."

"She was. I was sorry to hear what happened to her. Jocasta and I hadn't spoken in seven years but she didn't deserve to die."

It was refreshing to see one of Jocasta's friends actually show sympathy.

"And why weren't you in speaking terms?" Ron enquired.

"Some silly thing. Flavia Caldwell. She was a friend of mine, and of Jocasta's too. Something sinister happened between the two of them. A man, I believe. But they stopped talking to each other. I chose Flavia's side until she died. I haven't spoken to Jocasta since then."

"A man, you say?" Ron asked again.

Phoebe laughed mirthlessly.

"Yes, Mr?"

"Weasley"

"Yes, Mr Weasley, a man. Believe me, only men can create rifts like that between women."

She touched his hand for a moment and added seductively:

"Maybe you know something about that."

Ron swallowed hard while Harry barely suppressed a snigger.

"Do you have any idea who this man was?" Harry pursued in an attempt to divert Phoebe's attention away from Ron.

"I don't know for certain, but I suspect it was actually Jameson himself, Jocasta's husband. He was another reason why my estrangement from Jocasta was never mended. The man is despicable. I don't know what either Flavia or Jocasta found in him."

"We can't comment on that," Ron said diplomatically. "You say Flavia Caldwell died a while back?"

"Seven years ago. Killed herself. I'm sure you can find something in the old issues of the Prophet."

"We'll look," Harry supplied. "Any other enemy you would know for Jocasta?"

"Well, her circle of friends is worse than a bunch of harpies but I don't think any of them would go to the length of murder. Petty disparaging was enough. I think Jocasta was quite alone and that her elf was probably her closest friend."

"Thank you, Mrs McPherson," Ron said to close the meeting. "Please feel free to owl us if you find something else."

* * *

><p>"Have you heard from Neville and Higgins?" Ron asked as he painstakingly wrote a summary of their visit with Phoebe McPherson.<p>

"No," Harry replied.

"It's gonna be a fun talk with Jameson, asking him whether he cheated on his wife with Flavia Caldwell and pushed her to suicide."

"Probably enough of a bastard to admit it," Harry said with unhidden contempt for the husband of their murder victim."Ron, how do you think we'll go about finding more about Caldwell?"

"Well, McPherson told us we may find more in old issues of the Prophet. I reckon Caldwell was involved in the same kind social circle as Jameson. That's what fills Witches Weekly and the Prophet's gossip columns. I think a trip to the library is in order," Ron said in his best Hermione imitation.

"She'd be proud of you if she heard you," Harry deadpanned and there was no need for them to clarify who the 'she' was. "Although she might jinx you first for imitating her."

"Just don't tell her about it, all right?" Ron pleaded.

"Tell me about what?"

Hermione had just appeared in the door, still wearing her work robes and carrying what looked like a slim leather satchel but that actually held two dozen files. Ron rose abruptly, knocking some parchment off his desk as he made his way to her to give her a light kiss.

"Hi, Love," he greeted her in a voice too high to deny he had indeed been talking about her.

"So, what is Harry not telling me about?" she pursued with mild amusement.

"Ron wants to go to the library to research something."

An expression of amazement and pride crossed her face.

"I'm impressed," she finally said.

"It's about our case. We got a new lead this morning and we need to dig more about a woman who died seven years ago," Ron supplied.

"Well, it is quite fun to go through old issues of the Prophet," she replied with enthusiasm. "I'll be happy to help you," she started.

"Sounds like old times," Harry said with a big grin.

"But we'll have to wait until tomorrow as the library is now closed," Hermione finished. "I actually came here because the house was empty. You are at work later than me," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"We're waiting for Higgins and Neville," Ron explained. "We agreed to meet back here tonight."

"I see," she replied as a small smile graced her face. "Well, I actually have some news about the elf centre. Your Dad came through, Ron. He helped us secure the location. Not ours yet, but we have the permission from the Ministry to use it for the next six months. Of course, we can purchase it before that to make it ours if we have the funds."

"That's great news, Hermione," Harry enthused.

"That's fantastic," Ron echoed.

"Yes. I'll make sure to get your Dad a nice Muggle present. But to the point, we'll need to go there and start the cleanup."

Both young men sighed with discontent.

"Yes, yes, I know the pair of you doesn't really care for tidying up," she said admonishingly, "but we are wizards, aren't we? It honestly can't be as bad as Grimmauld Place when we had to clean it up. I plan to go tomorrow night after work."

"Fine, I'll come with you," Ron said, although without much conviction.

"Harry?" Hermione turned expectantly towards Harry.

"I... Ginny and I have something scheduled tomorrow," he replied apologetically. "I can come the next day, though."

"Then, it's settled," Hermione said with an air slightly reminiscent of the one she had sported when she had hatched a plan to brew Polyjuice potion at the tender age of thirteen, earning her affectionate smiles from both Harry and Ron.

They waited another fifteen minutes for Neville and Higgins to arrive, chatting happily about the new Centre. Finally, Higgins and Neville made their way in the bullpen area where only Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained. They both looked somewhat disappointed.

"Miss Granger," Higgins greeted Hermione pleasantly.

"Mr Higgins, nice to see you again. Neville," she greeted her old friend with a tight hug he happily returned. "I was actually on my way out," she added before waving to all of them and disappearing in the fireplace in a puff of green smoke.

"You sure she doesn't want to join our department," Higgins asked wishfully before pursuing, "the interview with McPherson? How did it go?"

Ron and Harry related what they had learnt from Phoebe McPherson and the new lead they were exploring.

"That's interesting and may tie into what the elf told us. In my experience, people do mad things when matters of the heart are involved," Higgins said pensively.

"Like throw armies of canaries," Harry said under his breath just for Ron to hear.

"So, how did St Mungo's go?" Ron asked as he surreptitiously kicked Harry and had the satisfaction of seeing his friend's snigger morph into a scowl.

Neville went on to explain what had transpired at St Mungo's.

"We waited for a few hours in hiding but nothing happened. However, we have the place monitored so it should be a matter of time."

"What about the medi-witch? Lambert? Is she going to stay under the Imperius curse?" Ron asked.

"No, but she's working with us and will continue to play this game," Higgins said. "It's clear the poor lass isn't the fastest bird in the owlery," he added.

"Isn't that a risk?" Ron enquired.

Just as he did, a tawny owl made its way to the room.

"I thought they had banned the bloody birds," Higgins said quietly.

The owl flew closer to Ron and Harry and offered its leg, on which a small pouch had been tied.

Ron retrieved it and read.

"It's addressed to Harry, Hermione, and me," he announced somewhat perplexed.

He was about to open it when Higgins yelled sternly:

"Don't touch it!"

As he said that, the older Auror used his wand to cast a spell that enveloped the pouch into a bubble and levitated it away from Ron's hands.

"This'll have to go through security first," he explained. "Don't you find it odd that an unsolicited package gets delivered here and is addressed to not just Potter and you, but Miss Granger too?"

"Constant vigilance," Ron muttered under his breath.

"I see Mad-Eye left an impression," Higgins said mildly as he performed another spell that vanished the parcel. "Don't worry, if this package is safe, it'll be in your hands within two days. Now to go back to your question, Weasley, yes, having Miss Lambert is a small risk as she can be easily Imperiused but it's a calculated one. We don't want to change too much so as not to raise suspicion. Someone'll have to come and take these phials eventually."

"Eventually being the keyword here," Neville added in a yawn which was soon imitated by Harry and Ron.

"Well, looks like we're all knackered. Time to go home, lads. Good night."

* * *

><p>He hadn't thought walking would help. After all, he was Lucius Malfoy and had other means of transportation, much more magical than his feet. But here he was, strolling in the squalid side alleys of Diagon Alley. His head was held high, even if his smooth wand was well within his fingers' reach in the inside coat of his cloak. How could his only son, his flesh and blood live here?<p>

Yet, Draco was very much the purpose of his visit. He still couldn't believe what had happened that morning. Cissy had shared what she and Draco had done for this past year, had explained how this had achieved what she had said it would all this time. She had also told him how he wouldn't be part of the donation, as much as it pained her. And then she had done something she hadn't done in almost two years, she had kissed him. It'd been short, barely a touch of her soft lips but it had reminded him why he had always come back to her, and only her.

Cissy had been all he had expected in a wife: Pureblood, well bred, beautiful and quite clever. She could also be scheming and manipulative but he found that quite endearing about her. She hadn't been wild or mad like her two sisters. And most importantly, she had loved him and given him a son. And he couldn't deny that a life without her was something he couldn't contemplate. He needed her. Did she still love him? Her actions from that morning inclined him to think that part of her did. Yet, the mother in her hadn't forgiven him for the estrangement from Draco. So, he was doing what was necessary. What good would it be to get some of his old power back if he had nobody by his sides? He needed Cissy and if conquering her back implied making amends with that ungrateful son of theirs, then be it.

Draco didn't even try to hide his displeasure at seeing his father and for a moment thought of slamming the door in the older man's face.

"Father," he greeted Lucius curtly.

"I need to talk with you, Draco," Lucius started.

"You know, that sounds familiar. Last time you did this, you came with that bizarre idea that Mother was cheating on you.

"I know she wasn't," Lucius interrupted and for the first time in his life, Draco saw some modicum of remorse show in his father's eyes.

"All right. Then why are you here?" Draco asked as he opened the door and let his father in the small flat.

There was a long silence, growing heavier with each passing second until Lucius finally answered in a somewhat shaky voice:

"You, Draco."

He took a pause and breathed deeply before adding pleadingly:

"You're my only son."

"And it took you nineteen years to figure that out?"

Lucius sighed. He should have foreseen that Draco wouldn't make things easy.

"Whatever I did was never enough," Draco continued. "Even when I had my life threatened on a daily basis."

"Draco," Lucius pleaded again. "I never wanted you to be part of it in that way. I just wanted to bequeath you the power and status owed your name."

"That backfired, didn't it?"

Lucius turned around and whispered softly:

"I knew it had gone too far when the Dark Lord charged you with that mission. He wanted to take from me what I treasured most. Your mother and you."

Draco was about to lash out when the meaning of his father's words finally reached his brain and caused him to open and then close his mouth silently, not unlike a goldfish. He then remembered his father's penchant for acting and wondered how much of that statement was genuine.

"You never did much to prove that," he finally managed to say.

"Nonsense, I always gave you the best there was," Lucius replied with some heat as he turned around to face his son again.

And that was the problem with Lucius Malfoy, he thought material possessions were the pinnacle of love.

"I know you wanted more, Draco. The words, the nurture. But that was your mother's role. It just... well, I lost everything," he finally said.

"You still have the Manor and a very well-endowed vault at Gringott's," Draco remarked harshly.

"What does it matter if you and your mother aren't part of it."

Draco remained silent for a moment, absorbing this until-then-unknown side of his father. He noticed that the older man seemed completely sober and wondered if the absence of spirits had contributed to the sudden realisation. Or there was a doubt, still insidious, that his father was using him, playing a game. What had Greengrass said? That the Malfoys had a track record of double crossing everyone. Well, his father was definitely a leader in that area.

Lucius continued:

"Your mother was right. I was denying things."

"And you stopped?" Draco replied sarcastically.

"I know why she did things and it worked."

"Would you be that supportive had her plan failed?"

Lucius was silent for a while, which was as good an admission as there could be in Draco's mind.

"I would be," Lucius finally replied. "I wish I had been earlier."

"And you won't be part of the donation to St Mungo's," Draco pursued relentlessly.

"She told me that. She also told me you're working for Greengrass."

"Yes, I am and I've decided to continue to do so."

"Why?"

"I'm good at potions," Draco simply stated, "and he gave me a chance," he added in his head. "Besides, Greengrass is very influential and has the favour of the St Mungo's Board and is also endorsed by the Ministry."

A small half-smile started forming on Lucius's face.

"You've learnt well from your mother. But there are others who could be influential and much friendlier to our family."

"Are there? Perhaps you've eschewed the real world for too long, Father," Draco said sardonically.

At seeing his father's look of discomfiture, Draco softened.

"I know who you're thinking of. And trust me when I say it's best not to associate with him."

"Why not?" Lucius asked, his curiosity suddenly piqued.

Draco debated about how much to reveal while still not breaking his vow. Did he really want to tell his father? After all, he had the situation perfectly under control right now, didn't he? He had mastered what his father had raised him to do. While Lucius Malfoy may never be proud of his son's potion-making skills, he might approve and even draw a certain pride at seeing his son so skilled in the art of Machiavellian manipulation.

"Let's just say it's not in our best interest," Draco finally said.

He then wordlessly Summoned an old edition of the Prophet he had purposely kept, opened it at the correct page and passed it to his father. Lucius read in silence and things suddenly became clear.

"I see," he finally said.

"Anyway," Draco said as he rose and walked in the direction of the door, a not subtle indication that the visit was over, "Mother made the right decision and I will continue working with Greengrass, whether you like it or not."

"I don't," Lucius confirmed.

"And I don't need your approval anymore," Draco half-lied. "I suppose I'll see you and Mother at the party Granger is organising," he told his father as he opened the door for him.

"Yes, I'll be there with your mother, for your mother as I have no interest in the little vermin or the Mudblood who supports them."

"I figured that much out," Draco said. "And you might want to start calling her Muggle-born. She did keep you out of Azkaban, after all," Draco replied, not knowing where the urge to suddenly defend Granger had stemmed from and trying to ignore it. "Good bye, Father."

Lucius turned around and Draco almost expected to be admonished for his impertinence but instead, Lucius spoke softly:

"I am, Draco, I am proud of you."

And on this, he Disapparated with a faint popping noise.

* * *

><p>"This is really big," Hermione said brightly.<p>

"Yeah, and I'm sure it'll be fun cleaning it up," Ron said. "Like Grimmauld Place."

"Don't let Harry hear you," Hermione replied with a smile.

"The house wasn't his back then. Are you sure we can't use Kreacher to help us?"

"Ron, why would we use elf labour to clean up something that will become a centre to help elves?"

"Because Kreacher is much better than I am at cleaning spells and because we pay him," Ron offered with what he hoped was a smile charming enough to sway Hermione.

Instead she stared at him with an icy look.

"All right, all right, I'll do it with you."

"I hope you're talking about the cleaning up of this place," she said with light amusement as she swished her wand and cobwebs magically disappeared from the room they were in, releasing a few spiders to scamper in recesses.

"It's not fair to bring the beasts in the mix," Ron said with a shudder as his eyes seemed transfixed on the spot where a spider no bigger than a knut had vanished. "But it can be what you want," he added playfully.

"I'll keep that in mind. Let's start with this room. I already removed the spiders," she said merrily as she used her wand to siphon grime and dirt off various surfaces.

He joined in, assisting her with the many cleaning spells his mother had taught him from an early age but that he had never bothered to truly use. He kept glancing surreptitiously at Hermione. She had shed her Ministry robes and changed into a comfortable pair of jeans that espoused her bum in a way that made his blood roar. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck and wild curls escaped every which way, which she kept blowing off her face. And she was wearing the Weasley jumper she had at last received last Christmas, a shade of blue that had instantly become Ron's favorite colour. Of course, she could have had a purple and neon green polka dot jumper and that would have instantly become his new favorite colour.

It was wandwork but she didn't mind manually moving the odd assortment of furniture that was left. She soon got overheated in the thick woolly jumper and removed it, wearing an old Chudley Cannon t-shirt of his underneath, although he was sure there was no possible way he would have fit his lanky but tall frame in the current size of the t-shirt.

"Is that really what you're wearing when you go to work?" He asked her.

"No, that's just for you," she replied half-way between amusement and seduction.

They worked in companionable silence, ridding room after room of grime, dust, and odd magical pest that might have found refuge in the building that hadn't seen any usage in the last three years. He didn't mind the work as it gave him an opportunity to be alone with Hermione. He was just trying to figure out how he would bring the topic of the flat that his father had mentioned that morning when he had stopped by his office to thank him. His father had indicated the flat was just a block over and was also available at a rent defying all competition.

"Ron?"

His attention shifted back to her and he noticed she had paused in her work and was now intently looking at him while biting her lower lip, a sure sign she was nervous about something. He replied with an easy smile:

"Yeah?"

"There is a flat that is available not far from here. It's in a building owned by the ministry but they are renting it out. It's in terrible shape and would need to undergo extensive rehabilitation and even then it might not be great but then of course, there's magic."

She paused briefly to catch her breath as the whole thing had come in a single flow. Before he had the time to even speak, she opened her mouth again:

"Well, I was thinking, since Harry and Ginny are getting married, well, I know, not right now, but they may want some space. I know Harry won't kick us-me," she quickly corrected, "out any time soon, but here's the thing, I am planning to move out of Grimmauld Place. And this flat looks like a good opportunity as it's not far from the ministry and also conveniently located close to a nice Muggle neighbourhood. And..."

"Hermione, are you asking me to move in with you in that flat?" he asked her as his ears reddened noticeably.

"Well... I... Yes... I suppose I am," she stammered as a faint blush bloomed on her cheeks.

Ron was silent for a moment, digesting her request and all the emotions that swam in him. There was amazement that they had had the same idea, pure elation at the prospect of sharing a flat with her and nobody else, admiration for her boldness and a little bit of annoyance at seeing her beating him up again at taking the initiative on a major milestone in their relationship. But above all, there an all consuming love that made him catch her around the waist and lift her in a whirlwind as he rained thousands of kisses on her.

When he put her back on the floor, she was still laughing giddily and catching her breath, one hand still wrapped around his wrist and the other one resting on her heaving chest.

"I guess that's yes, then. Now, we'll just have to break the news to Harry."

"I was going to ask you the same, you know. Dad mentioned the flat and well, yeah, I don't want to be around Harry when he's gonna be doing Merlin knows what with my sister."

"Ron!" she admonished him good-naturedly as she picked up her wand and aimed it at an old desk that had been left behind after the ministry had abandoned the building.

"Well, that's the truth," he defended himself with a broad grin as he imitated her and started flourishing his wand at the desk, his attention still fully on her as she laughed merrily.

He heard her scream as a cracking noise echoed through the small room. He turned toward what he thought was the origin of the noise and his heart almost stopped as his breath hitched and air fought to get in and out of him.

She was in front of him, writhing in abject pain as a faceless voice repeated Crucio over and over. In front of him stood a massive and transparent wall that drew blood from his knuckles as his fists hit it in vain. He could see her waning as the pain sent her body in an almost convulsive state. He could see his hands now bloodied and his inability to get through the wall as she gave her last breath and lay motionless as the faceless voice erupted in a cackling laugh.

"Dead... Little Mudblood is dead..."

And a softer voice was calling for him, gently but insistently but he couldn't -or didn't want- to follow it. Instead, he just crumbled to the floor, bloody-handed, his face strewn with tears and his character completely and utterly defeated. The scene in front of him vanished and was replaced by one featuring a tall red-haired man with his back turned, who seemed to be walking away. He heard a shaky "Riddikulus" and the man, who he realised was himself, was tethered to some kind of bungee cord that always brought him back bouncing in an almost comical manner, before everything vanished and he was back in a room empty except for an old desk.

"Ron?"

The voice was gentle and urgent at the same time, yet so familiar, so soothing.

He slowly opened closed and opened his eyes, to see Hermione looking at him, her face etched with worry and her brows tightly knit in anxiety.

"'Rmione," he muttered feebly, as relief washed over him.

"It was a Boggart," she told him softly.

He now could put two and two together and understood that it had all been a Boggart. A stupid Boggart, one that took the shape of his worst fears.

"Did... did you see?" he asked her with a slight hesitation.

"I did," she answered solemnly.

"You banished it?"

"Yes, I did."

"I'm not leaving you again," he said weakly.

"Obviously not," she replied shakily. "I have you tethered on a bungee cord. That's all I could think of to get rid of the Boggart," she said as she lowered her eyes.

"Thank you," he told her feebly as he felt exposed, more than if he had been naked, and it wasn't as if she hadn't seen him bare before. He reached for the hand she was holding out to him, and was relieved to see his hand devoid of blood, the skin on it unbroken and smooth, except for little arc-shaped scars left by a vicious canary attack. She helped him up to his feet, amazing him with the strength her small body contained. She then engulfed him in a tight hug, uncharacteristically at a loss for words that might bring solace. What could be said in such situations?

A few minutes passed when neither one would let go. Neither was crying, just finding comfort in the presence of the other. Ron couldn't help having a foreboding and nagging feeling. Every time he had been close to reaching a new level of happiness with Hermione, something had happened, usually at his hand, that had fucked everything up. She had asked him to a Christmas party and he had ended up snogging Lavender. They had been dancing together and he had been about to kiss her when bloody Deatheaters had crashed Bill's wedding. She had been his closest ally and friend and he had abandoned her, unable to withstand the mind games the wretched locket had played on him. They had just had time to reconcile before Harry had uttered the taboo word and got into what to now lived as the worst day of his life. The Battle despite everything else only ranked second because for all the losses, they had found each other, the silver lining as Hermione liked to call it.

And now, she had just accepted to share a flat with him, and just him, and he couldn't help thinking something bad was about to happen and that the Boggart was just some kind of omen.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I know it was probably worse for you than me," she started.

"What? No...," he yelled with indignation.

"Shush," she said soothingly as her index fingers landed on his lips. "Let me speak. If it weren't for you yelling for me, I wouldn't have made it. Just remember that."

And she kissed him softly, almost chastely, standing on her tiptoes. She pulled away from him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you," she said in a barely audible whisper.

He didn't answer, just brought her closer to him and wrapped her in the heat of his body.

* * *

><p>The subject of the Boggart didn't surface again, even as Harry joined them the next day, making up for his absence the previous day by working twice as hard. The work on solving Jocasta's murder occupied much of their time, including trips to the library to consult old archives of the Prophet and Witches Weekly where Hermione had been able to locate more information about Flavia.<p>

Neville and Higgins did catch someone retrieving the phials but it was obvious he was another Imperiused victim and knew nothing about who was behind everything. Neville and Higgins had worked with both this man and Lambert to trigger their memory and figure out who might have Imperiused them on a regular basis. They had been able to narrow it down to someone working at St Mungo's which only left them with a few hundred potential suspects. They were going methodically through the roster of the hospital along with the organizational chart to see who would have had knowledge of all the processes. It was tedious but had allowed them to slowly but surely narrow the field to about fifteen people, some of whom were in influent positions.

On the third day, Higgins walked back in and announced:

"I talked to Cooper who specializes in tracking illegal traffic of potions and poisons. I thought it might be good to compare our list to suspected poison peddlers. Longbottom, here's Cooper's list. See if it helps narrow your pool of suspects," he asked as he handed the piece of parchment to Neville who eagerly snatched it and went on to work.

"Potter, Weasley, this went through security and is deemed safe and devoid of nefarious spells and enchantments," Higgins quoted as he held out the small pouch that had been owl-delivered two days before. Maybe you should invite Miss Granger since it's also addressed to her. Security said it looks like it's a memory."

"I'll send her a message," Ron said quickly before a small silvery terrier came out from his wand and was sent to find Hermione through the endless corridors of the ministry.

"Beautiful Patronus charm, Weasley. A small terrier, really?" Higgins asked with good humour.

It took a few minutes for Hermione to show up just as Higgins left the trio alone with an Auror department-issued Pensieve.

"I have to be back in a few minutes," Hermione announced as an opening, "Hobbes didn't appreciate the Auror department using my boyfriend to Summon me with a Patronus," she concluded in an imitation of Hobbes' mild and slightly whingy voice.

Harry dropped the memory from its container into the pensieve, being the most experienced of the three with the entire process, and they ducked their heads all at once. They waited for the memory to play out for them, silent witnesses of events that had transpired in a past that might or might not be distant.

"The bastard! He's got some gall to send us this fucking memory of everything else."

"We can't confirm it's him," Harry said in a calming voice.

"Can't we?" Ron asked with scepticism.

"All right, we can," Harry said having recognised the voice without a doubt even if the face had remained hidden.

"But that's not the important part," Hermione interjected. "Did you listen to what was said?"

Ron gave a loud sigh before saying:

"Yes, I did. We know who the source of the poison is. I bet you he'll be on Neville's short list."

A trigger had been set in the back of Hermione's brain, something else she had seen or read somewhere else and that she couldn't put her finger on.

"We do," Harry confirms. "That doesn't tell us who killed Jocasta."

Hermione's face lit like a light

bulb as she finally connected the two things that had been in the back of her mind.

She switfly went to Ron's desk and her eyes quickly found what she was looking for. Triumphantly, she held it out to Ron and Harry who soon registered the same look of realisation.

"Love, you're a genius," Ron said as he absently kissed her hand. "Harry, I think we might have a suspect."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**_ We'll find out next chapter who that suspect is. Thank you for reading!_


	25. A Night to Remember, Part 1

**A/N:** _I'm back! I know it's been forever but at last, an update. As always, my deepest thanks and appreciation to everyone who reads, favorites, or reviews this story. On with the story: time to see who the suspect is! Also, warning, some very mild smut, someone dies, and Draco is getting some action (although these are not related). I hope you enjoy!_

**Disclaimer:** _same old, same old: none of this is mine..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: A Night to Remember, Part 1<strong>

The excitement was palpable in the room.

"How did you recognise him?" Harry asked Hermione.

"He sits in the Wizengamot," Hermione explained as if knowing all the members of the wizarding governing body was the most natural and common thing.

"I remembered him from the Malfoys' trial," Ron added. "Seems there was no love lost between him and old Lucius."

"Isn't Meads also an influential member of the St Mungo's board?" Harry asked, remembering some of the charts Neville had put together.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "You may want to check with Neville what his exact title is but I think it's some high administrative position."

"And the ferret went to him to get the poison that almost killed you," Harry added with undisguised loathing for Draco Malfoy.

"Well, that's what the memory showed, now, wasn't it?" Hermione replied.

To their surprise, Ron almost smiled.

"Think of it, Harry, if not for the poison, Hermione would probably still not talk to me."

"And if not for the Bezoar and Harry's quick thinking, there wouldn't be a you to talk to," Hermione countered with a rage she rarely directed at Draco, preferring instead contempt or worse, pity.

She was still scowling when Neville burst into the small room they had been in to use the Pensieve, Higgins right on his heels.

"I think I found who is the source of the poison," Neville exclaimed enthusiastically.

"We did too," Ron replied and, at seeing Neville's face falling, added: "Go on..."

"Meads, Acario Meads. He's been under suspicion for more than a year but the department had been unable to find evidence to use against him."

"We have some," Ron said while pointing to the basin where Draco's memory was still floating.

"Unfortunately, memories can't be used because they can be altered by magic," Higgins said. "No matter, it gives us internal evidence," he added before turning back to Neville: "Go on, Longbottom," Higgins encouraged. "Tell them how you found out."

"I just sifted through lists," Neville offered. "Meads sits on the Board and runs the business that provides all potion ingredients to St Mungo's. He has an office at St Mungo's, which happens to be next to the potion preparing area. Convenient if one wants to Imperius people like Lambert. He would also know who is on staff and not and would know all the processes of the hospital. And he's the only one also on Cooper's list."

"So, what was in the memory that made you connect things to Meads?" Higgins asked, suddenly intrigued.

"Someone sent us a memory," Harry offered," showing Meads discussing Toxus and how he is a master in the art of brewing it."

"There's more," Ron added. "Hermione found out that Flavia Caldwell, the woman mentioned by McPherson, well, she was Meads's sister."

"Which connects him, even if tenuously, to Jocasta Jameson," Hermione added.

"Good job, everyone," Higgins said with undisguised pride. "Now, we need to put all this together and build a solid case, with unshakable evidence against Meads. I'd bet the man has some resources and won't be afraid to use them to grease some paws and slither out of that one. We need to wrap this tightly."

There was a general agreement expressed through head nodding.

"Miss Granger, do you think we could get the elf back? She had mentioned she had heard the voice of that man."

"I will get on it," Hermione replied, all business. "Right now," she added as she made her way out but not before giving Ron a small peck.

"Lads, let's get to work."

* * *

><p>"And why do we need to use departmental resources to get an elf back, Miss Granger?<p>

"Mr Hobbes, the elf may have information that may help seal the Jameson murder case the Aurors are working on. We believe the elf can provide evidence against a suspect."

"We? Miss Granger. Lest you forget, you don't work for the Aurors Department even if your friend and lover work there," Hobbes replied with stinging contempt.

Hermione decided to ignore the base comment and carried on:

"I can do this on my own time, Sir. I thought it would be useful to inform the department of what is going on."

"Like you informed me of the party you are putting together for the Centre you are planning to open."

"Sir, I am doing this on my own time and name, seeing as I received no formal support from this department. This is perfectly well within my rights. According to the contract I signed, I can..."

"Enough," he interrupted her impatiently. "I know what contract you signed. You just seem to have little regard for authority. You may not use departmental resources for this. And anyway, I seriously doubt that an elf testimony will be taken seriously," he added dismissively.

"Very well," Hermione replied in a cold voice. "Anything else?"

Hobbes didn't seem to catch the sarcasm in her question.

"No, just take care of the Thurgood case," he answered curtly before retreating back to his office.

* * *

><p>"Hello? Anyone home?" Hermione greeted as she emerged from the fireplace, brushing off any soot that might have subsided from her floo travel.<p>

"Master is not home yet, nor is Mister Weasley," Kreacher announced with a bow as he took her cloak for her.

"Thank you, Kreacher," she replied kindly.

"Dinner is ready," the elf announced. "Pot roast and carrots."

"That sounds delicious!"

"And Miss Weasley is here," Kreacher announced just as Ginny walked into the drawing room.

"I thought I heard something," Ginny said as she gave Hermione a tight hug. "You're the first one here."

"The case they've been working on," Hermione explained why Ron and Harry were still out at almost eight o'clock. "I helped them last week," she added, thinking of how she had got Nelly out of Hogwarts for one day and how the elf had identified Meads's voice from the memory.

"It looks like a complicated case, from what little information Harry let through. But you know him, not the bloke to share too much."

Hermione detected a hint of resentment in the younger woman's voice.

"Ginny, it's just the Auror department policy. Besides, knowing some details might put you in danger."

"But you know some," Ginny countered.

"I don't have all the details either. I just happen to be involved through my job and part of the investigation came through some evidence that involved me. Otherwise, I wouldn't know any more than you."

"It's always that way, though, isn't it? Always the three of you: my fiancé, my brother and my best friend and somehow, I'm always left out."

"Ginny," Hermione sighed, "Harry, Ron and I went through a lot together and that can never be erased. But trust me, Harry will be yours and yours only. Ron and I are moving out."

"I didn't mean it this way, and you know it," Ginny replied without heat. "You just have that special bond and no-one can come into it."

"As I've said, we've been through a lot together."

"I guess," Ginny replied before a cheeky smile grew on her face. "And yet, you're signing on to live alone with Ron," she added with visible mischief.

"Well, I don't think Ron relishes the idea of living under the same roof as you and Harry. He is..." Hermione paused, weighing the best words to express her thought.

"Afraid he'll find Harry and me in compromising situations," Ginny offered in a laugh.

"Well, yes."

"And that'll give him more space to be in same said compromising situations with you," Ginny cheeked and had the pleasure of turning Hermione's cheeks a bright pink.

"Maybe," Hermione coughed out.

"So, when are you two getting married?"

"Is there any hurry?" Hermione asked, trying to quell the little voices of uncertainty that quietly sneaked into her mind.

Truth was that Ron and she had not discussed the topic that begged discussion since Harry had made his proposal. She knew other people would wonder as well. She definitely wasn't in a hurry but wondered why he hadn't even mentioned it. Maybe he didn't want to marry her after all.

"No, not at all. But Mum will get on your case soon enough, especially if you move in together. Don't worry, you'll help me plan my wedding and get plenty of practice. Oh, I haven't told you, but you're my maid of honour."

"Thank you," Hermione replied absently. "You think Ron wants to marry me?"

"I'm sure of it. As sure as I am that we will trounce the Chudley Cannons in our game next week," Ginny said as she squeezed Hermione's hand.

"You always have to bring everything back to Quidditch," Hermione said softly as a shy smile formed on her face.

"Well, I'm a Weasley, aren't I? Percy really is an anomaly in the family," Ginny cheeked. "But to get back to us, I will need your help to plan the wedding, and to keep me sane while Mum tries to fit me in some old-fashion lacy number. She seems to listen to you for some reason. And don't worry, I'll repay the favour when it's your turn. Actually, I have a surprise for you for now. I spoke with Gwenog and the entire team will make an appearance at your party tomorrow."

"Really?"

Hermione remembered her last encounter with the famed Quidditch captain and how she had found the older woman slightly full of herself. Yet, there was no denying that having the Harpies at her fundraiser would bring additional press coverage, which could be useful.

"Really," Ginny confirmed. "I can't wait to see how that thing turns out."

"It'll be fantastic, Ginny, a night to remember."

* * *

><p>There was something beautiful about him sleeping so peacefully, flopped on his stomach with his long frame sprawled across the bed. His left arm was possessively wrapped around her waist while half of his right one was hanging off the bed. His face was turned sideways, his silky fringe obscuring most of his eyes. His mouth was slightly open underneath the nose some might have called a bit too long but that she found perfect and there was a light snore emanating from it. Her fingertip went to gently touch his full lips, feeling the rough stubble just above it. She had always loved his lips, how they could whisper loving words or hurl the crudest ones, how they could be butterfly soft on her skin or demanding as he took her in fierce kisses, how they could curl in this smile so uniquely his or set into a straight and narrow line when he was upset. She got closer to him, feeling his left arm reeling her in as she did so, and softly, tenderly kissed the lips she loved so much.<p>

He hummed agreeably under her barely there kiss and a faint smile started gracing his face. She kissed him again and was rewarded by a small moan sounding like 'rmione'. Yet his eyes remained closed and he resumed his light snoring.

She couldn't help the tender smile that bloomed on her lips. There were days when Ron still slept like a stone. She knew he would wake up if she left the warmth of their bed. Was it theirs or just his and she shared it every night? Such things would usually not bother her as Ron was selfless with his possessions. Yet, ever since Harry had proposed to Ginny, there had been a small pang of envy. And her talk with the newly betrothed Ginny the previous night had brought this longing into sharp relief.

She had no care for a ring, not bestowing any importance on material things. And even if they had seen and done things well beyond their years, they were extremely young, she barely twenty and Ron not quite there yet. There was no pressure from her parents. As Muggles, they certainly didn't see anything wrong with their daughter living together with her boyfriend. She knew Mrs Weasley felt differently. But did Ron want to marry her? Some of her old and familiar insecurities seemed to be deep-seated, despite what Ginny had said the night before.

He moaned her name again, drawing her out of the slightly depressing thoughts she had been entertaining.

"C'mere," he murmured as his lips sought hers blindly.

He wrapped her in a tight embrace, enveloping her in the warmth his body always seemed to exude.

"What's on your mind?" he asked sleepily.

How did he know? He had been sleeping and hadn't even opened his eyes, yet knew she was preoccupied. She wasn't ready to tell him about the thoughts she had actually had so she chose another topic that was often on her mind these days.

"I think I'll be out of a job soon."

"Don't let it worry you," he said in a yawn. "Hobbes's an arse. You'll find something better in no time."

"I don't know," she replied with a sigh, while her hand went to caress his bare chest. "I like the job. Sometimes, you find the right fit the first time."

"Are you talking about your job or us?" he asked her as his eyes finally opened and his left hand snaked his way down her back to land squarely on her backside.

She imitated him and had her own hand find its way to his boxer-covered bum.

"I don't want to talk," was all she said before taking him in fierce kiss.

And talking was utterly unnecessary. He just surrendered to her, her hungry kisses and soft caresses, too far gone in the intoxicating sight and smell of her. He let her push him on his back and ride him into some version of heaven before she came undone and moaned his name into three more syllables than was required.

She collapsed on him, their bodies still connected, and he just protectively wrapped his arms around her. And in this moment of shared intimacy, she didn't care about not receiving a marriage proposal or losing her job. Her entire world was filled with Ron and nothing else and he was all that mattered.

His soft words surprised her, not the 'I love you' he never failed to utter at the end of lovemaking, but what followed:

"I do want to marry you, Hermione."

When had he become a Legilimens?

At her silence, his eyes, which had closed as his nose had made contact with the soft smell of her hair, opened and saw her bewildered look. He should have been compassionate but couldn't help the snort that escaped him.

She broke from his embrace and rose to dominate him, still gloriously bare.

"This isn't funny, Ron," she said with obvious indignation.

He managed to regain some composure, remembering she had a wicked punch and that he was currently completely naked and at her mercy.

"All right, it's not. But I do. Want to marry you, that is."

"Is that a proposal?" she asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"Do I have a ring?"

"Do I look like I care about a futile ring?"

"Probably not," he replied softly.

"Then, I guess this is a proposal."

He snorted again and she did punch the top of his arm.

"All right, all right," he said in a voice struggling to keep laughter away. "Yes, it's a proposal."

There was a brief silence when she looked at him with an intensity he knew to hide the cogs turning in that impressive brain of hers.

"What's your answer?" he finally asked her in a voice he would have wanted cocky but which instead sounded squeaky and ill-assured.

"I need to think of it," she replied primly.

She let his face fall for a few seconds before snorting inelegantly into laughter of her own.

"Of course, I want to marry you."

His worry melted away at once.

"Do... do we need to set a date?" he asked her.

"No. No hurry. You're not even twenty, you young one."

He used his hand to reach behind her neck, sighing happily at the feel of her voluminous hair, and brought her face close to his, whispering 'I love you' before kissing her softly.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"We'll have to erm... make some edits when we tell people how I proposed. 'm not sure Mum wants the details."

She laughed happily and snuggled closer to him.

"I think that's a good idea. The edited version. Now that's settled, we have to get ready for tonight. Errands to run, venue to organise."

He moaned at she continued enumerating the list but nothing could erase the broad smile off of his face.

* * *

><p>The evening quickly arrived and the pace of preparations took a frenzied turn. Hermione was finally pushed -bullied, Harry suggested- by Ginny to go back to Grimmauld Place to get herself ready. Upon their arrival, the two women promptly retreated to the bedroom Hermione seldom occupied. It was almost an hour later that Ron decided to check on them under the pretence of his bow needing straightening. The door was ajar when Ron knocked on it, asking loudly enough to be heard:<p>

"Love, do you know how to knot this bloody bow tie?"

It was Ginny who opened the door, looking gorgeous in a curve hugging green satin dress. Ron paid no attention to his sister or the dress that he would have otherwise found too revealing. Everything had disappeared when he had set eyes on Hermione wearing a long floaty red dress, her hair made up in a complicated up-do. She was jaw-dropping beautiful.

"You..." he started awkwardly..."look beautiful," he finished and had the pleasure of seeing her blush prettily.

"Why, thank you," came Ginny's voice from the door frame. "Now, can we get going?"

"Ginny's right, we need to get going. The reception will start in an hour," Hermione said as she adjusted Ron's bow tie, her lips brushing his and lingering far longer than necessary. Ginny's not so subtle cough didn't change anything. It was Harry running and breathless announcement that did:

"Just got a floo call from Higgins. New development on the Jameson case. We have enough to arrest Meads. It also seems he's making plan to move to the continent. Higgins wants us to move tonight."

"Tonight?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry replied sincerely. "However, it should be short and we should back for the party in time for all the fun."

"You better be, Harry Potter, or I will make you feel sorry," she replied in her usual bossy tone.

Harry gulped and waited for Ron to give one last kiss to Hermione before moving next to him. Harry whispered to Ron:

"Scary, isn't she?"

"You've got no idea," Ron applied as they Disapparated, both smiling cheekily as Hermione's shrill "I heard that' echoed around them.

* * *

><p>Lucius looked at his wife with a mixture of pride and lust. She looked magnificent in an exquisite floor length gown of shimmery silver. Her blond hair had been gathered up into an elaborate chignon at the top of her head, highlighting the refined features of her face. The gleaming emeralds adorning her delicate wrist didn't escape his notice either. Here it was, the evidence they were finally mending their relationship: the same bracelet she had left on the dinner table last Christmas, shunning him and his gifts.<p>

They had come a long way since last Christmas, and ever further since he had spoken with Draco. Obviously, mother and son were close, closer as a result of their work together on getting the family image back where it belonged. And maybe there was room for him as well in this new tight-knit family.

He took her delicate hand and laid a kiss on it, both relieved and exhilarated she didn't pull away from him.

"Cissy, you look magnificent," he told her, knowing her vanity always enjoyed this kind of compliment.

"Thank you," she replied neutrally but he had the satisfaction to see the spark in her eyes.

"Shall we?" he asked her while extending his arm to her.

"Absolutely," she replied as she seized the offered limb and they got engulfed in green flames.

Their entrance didn't go unnoticed and there were a few photos taken, to the delight of Narcissa. They found Granger, barely recognisable with her hair gathered in an elaborate knot. She was alone, which was uncharacteristic as Potter and Weasley always seemed to be with her. She showed them to the table that would be theirs for the dinner and let them to mingle with the rest of the crowd for the reception, obviously having no desire to spend more time with them than was strictly mandatory. The feeling was fully reciprocated. Yet, the little Mudblood appeared a bit frantic, which enhanced the bossy tone of her voice. Yet, she was due some credit. The reception was well attended and by important names, exactly what was needed.

They did mingle, facing uncomfortable questions and stares that Narcissa had a natural talent to deflect. They were finally just the two of them and as he checked the time on his pocket watch, Lucius knew he had to act now.

"Darling, I have some business I need to tend to, an old acquaintance," he whispered for Narcissa only to hear.

"What about?" she asked suspiciously.

She had to ask. They had not come this far, overcoming many obstacles along the way, to just throw it all away on one of Lucius sudden desire to tend to some business. It had usually been the exact words he had used when he had gone on missions for the Dark Lord.

"Old friend I need to see," he replied smoothly. "No need to worry, Cissy. I'll be back in less than thirty minutes," he added reassuringly as he gently took her hand and brought it to his lips.

The nod was almost imperceptible but indicated she wouldn't ask more questions.

"Be careful, Lucius," she offered as parting words.

* * *

><p>Evening dos like this one had never really been Draco's element, especially when none of the attendees had been hand-picked to just listen to him and appreciate his magnificence. Was there any of that left anyway?<p>

How odd it was that the party was thrown together by Granger, Potter, and Weasley. Of course, this fact sorely showed in the lack of elegance in the decoration or the lack of refinement of the food. It didn't matter that the minced meat pie he was currently eating was tasting better than anything he had ever eaten.

He had seen his parents arrive and had not paid them any more attention. Yes, he was doing this for his mother but there were boundaries to respect after all. He saw Granger, barely recognisable with her wild mass of hair sleeked and tamed into an elaborate up-do. She was standing in a corner, a piece of parchment in her hand, talking animatedly with a red-haired woman he finally placed as Weasley's mother.

Well, he had no intention to speak to either although he wondered where Granger's two friends were. Maybe trying to finally put Meads away? Why was it taking them so bloody long to put the bastard away in Azkaban? He had sent them the memory almost ten days ago. The memory meant he kept his part of the unbreakable vow. He had not spoken of what he knew, just shared a memory with the Aurors he knew could put the pieces together. He had also addressed it to Granger because, as loath as he was to admit it, he relied on her brain to make all the connections.

It was now two days to the Board of Governors meeting where Greengrass would plead for the hospital to accept a public donation from the Malfoys. Meads would be there and would become blatantly aware of the fact that Draco didn't need him anymore.

Since their deal had been for Meads to do exactly what Greengrass was doing for Narcissa and Draco in exchange for Draco's silence on the Toxus affair, the unbreakable vow had become somewhat of a moot point.

Of course, Draco had planned all along to give him to the Aurors. Meads had after all refused to help the Malfoys when they needed him most, having voted against his father being released during the trial and having tried to proposition his mother. No, the son of a bitch deserved to be in Azkaban.

Draco tried to push the unpleasant thoughts away from his mind and not to focus on the rising anxiety that filled him with everyday passing when Meads was still free. He scanned the room to gauge who was at the party, spotting that Irish boy (Finnegan, wasn't he?) in a relaxed discussion with Weasley's old girlfriend, the one who was also working with Greengrass. There was also the lunatic Lovegood talking with the Weasley girl, and several others he recognised from his Hogwarts years but had no desire to talk to.

He then saw her, barely recongisable in a dress he could only describe as ethereal. Her brown hair was gathered at the nape of her neck and her blue eyes were circled with sophisticated gold makeup that made them stand out even more, even from his position across the room.

She was talking with an older woman he placed as her mother until she seemed to sense his eyes on her and looked in his direction, drowning him in a sea of gold and blue. She seemed to waste no time in divesting herself of her mother and walked straight toward him, a small smile forming on her bright red lips.

"Astoria," he greeted her in a tone he wished to be as neutral as possible.

"Malfoy, how nice of you to throw such as an extravagant affair."

Her eyes twinkled, little sapphires encased in gold, as she cheeked but he noticed there was no animosity in them, something rare these days when people looked at him.

"I assume your father will make a generous contribution to Granger's centre," he said.

"Most definitely," she smiled. "Papa thinks that Granger is paving the way for greater things, especially for Werewolf victims."

"I see, so it's not completely without a personal interest."

"Of course not. Contributions are never selfless," she said dismissively. "Are you a Slytherin?"

He was surprised by her frankness, not having expected it, and suddenly understood why she had indeed belonged in Slytherin. She sensed it and elaborated:

"I just mean you can choose where you can do good things."

He nodded and she seized his arm.

"Since you are sponsoring this, why don't you give me a tour?" she asked him as she dragged him toward a corridor off the big room where the festivities were held.

She grabbed a glass of mead from a tray and passed it to him before she grabbed another one for herself on their way out of the room.

He could have resisted, could have turned back but there was an infectious aura about her he couldn't describe. Enthusiasm? Happiness? Things he hadn't felt in a long while. And there was the indisputable fact that she was pretty, in her own way, in that dress that seemed to have belonged to Circe herself.

"Let's go," he heard himself talk, quite content to escape the mundanities of a party he had no care for.

The building was vast and, to his great pleasure, devoid of other people, the action being concentrated into the large room on the first floor. She was talking non-stop, taking breaks only to breathe. Commenting on the fate of elves- he was surprised to see she supported paying them wages.

"But they live to serve," he remarked.

"Draco," she said softly, not noticing how much it pleased him to hear the five letters rolling off her tongue, "as much as it pains me to say so, Granger is right. Servitude has been ingrained in them, over many centuries. It doesn't mean it's right. Would you like it if Papa didn't pay you for the work you do for him?"

"I'm not an elf," he defended himself. "Besides, it works. Why change something that works?"

She was silent for a while before asking him:

"So the reason you've changed is that you weren't right before?"

It came out of nowhere and stung, not because of its unexpected nature, but for the veracity it held. Not being able to handle silence, she continued:

"Papa talks a lot about you at home. He still thinks you're a git but he can see the progress. Papa is great that way. He can always see the whole picture."

"Oh?"

Obviously, Greengrass knew nothing of the deal with Meads.

"But can you see it, can't you? How you've changed?"

Had he changed? Not really, it was just his entire universe that had been upended. Was it truly better that way? He chose to ignore the small internal voice that told him that maybe it was.

"What d'you mean?"

"You were, well, kind of a brat," she started in her blunt fashion. "An unsufferable one at that," she added.

"You have a real way with words," he replied drily.

"I know," she said as she bared her teeth in a smile. "That's what Archie kept saying."

"Archie?"

"My boyfriend," she explained.

"Ah," he uttered, slightly deflated.

"Or ex-boyfriend, actually," she added and there didn't seem to be any regret in her voice.

"Can't see why when you're always so full of kind things to say."

"Oh stop pretending you're hurt, Malfoy! You've always been a spoilt brat riding your father's coattails or scheming to see how you could make someone's life miserable. You never did anything constructive. Yet, look at what you've done this past year! I know," she said raising a hand to stop him from talking, "there was something in it for you."

At least she wasn't naïve enough to think otherwise. Yet, she was the first person to ever point out he had done something worthwhile, even if it had stemmed out of self-interest and preservation.

"So," he decided to change the uncomfortable topic as they walked into yet another room, this one holding a piano. "What do you want to do after Hogwarts, besides being a spoilt brat riding her father's coattails?"

She put her glass of mead on the piano, and turned to face him before childishly pulling her tongue at him. And he couldn't help the laughter that bubbled deep inside him and escaped, nor did he want to as the feeling felt so foreign and almost forgotten.

She sat at the piano before answering him:

"Well, I don't want to do what Mum wants me to."

"What is that?"

"Find a husband and live the same life she has. Not my thing and I seriously can't cook, despite all her efforts to teach me."

"See, that's why there are house elves."

"Who need payment for their services," she reinforced. "No, I want to work and potions, whilst I'm good at it, is not my calling. No, I want to help Papa from the legal side, help pass regulations to protect victims of werewolves."

"Really?" he asked, oddly both impressed and dismissive at the same time.

"Yes, Malfoy, really," she answered as she tapped a few keys and decided to use her wand to tune the ancient instrument."

"I want the law to have my name, of course, but also to benefit the victims. See, you can do good things whilst making a name for yourself. That's why I'm here tonight. Granger has an idea here and she has a lot of clout."

"I see. Nothing for me?"

"Draco, Draco, Draco," she repeated with slight exasperation. "We both know you're here because Granger and her friends forced you in some ways. Nobody's fooled. Or maybe you're here for the drinks," she added as she took a long sip from the glass of mead and stood it back on top of the piano.

He should have felt stung, been defensive about her comment, self-deprecation having never been one of his strong suits. And yet, he found her bluntness quite endearing.

"I guess I wouldn't be the only one, Astoria," he replied, realising how pretty her name was when said aloud.

"You're quite correct," she agreed as her fingers went to the keys and started playing a beautiful and melancholy piece he didn't recognise.

"You play the piano?"

"Obviously," she replied as her fingers kept extracting the exquisite sounds from the instrument. "Mum," she explained as her fingers moved confidently on the keyboard. "She loves music and can sing beautifully. I sound more like a kneazle having its tail stuck somewhere. The piano was something we could agree on."

"What are you playing?" he asked her.

"Muggle music. A bloke named Beethoven composed this. It's called Moonlight Sonata. Appropriate, isn't it?"

"It's probably because you're playing it, but it sounds pretty."

"You have a way with words, Draco," she threw his words back at him as her fingers stopped and she rose to face him.

"It was nice chatting with you," she said as she took the glass she had deposited on the piano and drank the last of its content.

She inched forward and rose on her toes before her lips, still tasting of mead, brushed his lightly.

"I'll see you soon," she whispered against his mouth before slowly walking away, leaving him too stunned to move.

* * *

><p>Hermione grabbed the parchment she was holding and scratched another item off the list on it. She had welcome the Malfoys to the reception. Had it been enjoyable? Absolutely not, especially without Ron and Harry by her sides.<p>

She wondered where the two were and whether they were making progress on the arrest of Meads. Had it been pure folly to believe they would be back on time for the banquet that followed the reception? Could she handle this on her own, and more importantly, retain her sanity while doing it?

She smiled as she saw Ginny walk in her direction, accompanied by Gwenog Jones.

"Pleasure to see you again," Hermione greeted the Harpies captain.

"All mine, really. Ginny talks a lot about you, her brother and Harry Potter. Quite extraordinary what you're doing. A radical change. This world certainly can use some of it. After all, even though we Harpies have been around for almost eight centuries, there are still people who think women unable to play Quidditch."

"Would those be supporters of the Chudley Cannons?" Hermione asked with humour.

"And you told me she knew nothing of Quidditch," Gwenog told Ginny.

"But she's dating my brother," Ginny grinned, "who's a hopeless Cannon fan."

"Poor man, your brother. Too bad we'll beat his team again next week. I think that'll be the fiftieth time in a row."

All three women laughed at the expense of the much maligned Cannons.

"Well, Miss Granger, you have my support and that of my team," Gwenog said.

"Thank you, Miss Jones."

"Gwenog, please." Jones said before moving on to another group of people.

Hermione was pleased to see that she didn't find Gwenog Jones as pretentious as she had after their last encounter. And Ginny had been right, bringing the Harpies was a fantastic move, guaranteeing some press coverage of the event. It would be even better if Harry and Ron would show up.

"Miss Granger, might I have a word?"

The familiar voice with its monotonous pace felt even more annoying than usual.

"Mr Hobbes, I am rather busy at the moment. Might it wait until we are back at work on Monday?"

Her annoyance with the man was blatant in her voice and tone.

"I am afraid not, Miss Granger. You might also want a more private place."

She sighed, remembering she had only invited Hobbes because it would look awkward not to and finally relented.

"Very well. But I have only have two minutes."

They walked toward a quiet alcove, away from the noise and eyes.

"What is it, Mr Hobbes?" she asked in a gentler tone.

"I spoke with the Minister and it seems that he is under the impression I didn't sponsor this evening."

"You didn't, Mr Hobbes. This is sponsored by S.P.E.W., the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I am one of the founders along with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and we received a generous contribution from the Malfoy family to start this centre.

"Of course, I did, you silly girl."

"No," Hermione replied impatiently, abandoning any pretence. "You just want to think that now that the evening is a success, but you expressly forbade me to use departmental resources for this purpose."

She saw the change in his face and the brief smile told her he was going for another angle of attack if that one wasn't working.

"But you are using your name and people know where you're working. This will have a negative impact on the department. This isn't the first time you're being insubordinate, Miss Granger. You also worked with the Aurors getting that elf out of Hogwarts.

"I did so on my own time, using my personal relationship with the Headmistress of Hogwarts!"

"You see, Miss Granger, always being insubordinate," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I'm afraid I can't tolerate this behaviour. I have no choice, really. There's no need for you to come to work on Monday," Hobbes finally announced.

"Are you firing me, Mr Hobbes?" Hermione asked him calmly.

"I... yes, I am and don't expect a reference from me," he replied abruptly.

She absorbed the piece of news, having expected it for the last few days, remembering how she had told Ron this would happen just that morning. As she thought of Ron, his words came back to her. She would have no difficulty finding another job. Drawing from Ron's trust in her, she pulled herself a bit taller, easily towering over the average height of Hobbes in her high heels, and smiled as she told him:

"I wouldn't want one anyway, Sir. And I don't think I will need one after tonight. And I will continue my work with the elves. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening and that we can count on a generous contribution from you. Good night."

And she walked away with the confidence of someone who might have lost a battle but was on her way to win the war.

* * *

><p>Lucius Apparated in the entrance hall of St Mungo's. Even at this time of the night, the place was busy enough for his arrival to go unnoticed, which he desired. It didn't take long for him to find Meads's office. As had been agreed, the door had been left ajar.<p>

"Working late, Acario, aren't you?"

"Lucius, what a pleasure to see you," Meads replied in a honey-laced voice that belied every last of his words. "Have a seat. Tea? Something stronger?"

The implied message wasn't lost on Lucius. Somehow Meads was aware of his struggle with potent drinks over the last year.

"I'd gladly accept if I didn't know you to be a master poison maker."

Meads's smile faltered imperceptibly as he started realising Lucius Malfoy was here for more than a meeting to rekindle old relationships. Lucius's smile, on the other hand, grew wider.

"It's come to my attention that Toxicum Virulentus was used in the murder of Jocasta Jameson. Such a pity. She was a good friend of your sister's, wasn't she? Such a tragic end for both."

"Leave Flavia out of this," Meads spat out.

He took a deep breath to collect himself. Flavia was always a source of strong emotions for him and he also knew he had precious little time left before the Aurors would move in on him. He had noticed the different men who had been shadowing him over the last few days. It was just a matter of arranging a few last things before he made his way to Hungary where old-and reliable- friends could provide him with the start of a new life. Lucius Malfoy was just one of these loose ends he had to tie up first.

"Oh, I touched a nerve, didn't I?" Lucius said with a sadistic pleasure. "Really, it was never healthy how much you loved your sister."

Meads remembered he had to control his reaction, something he was a master at:

"What do you want, Lucius?"

"You and I go a long way and know enough about each other."

"Didn't you get immunity from whatever deal you struck with Potter?"

"Potter was just thankful Narcissa saved his life," Lucius replied nonchalantly.

"Ah yes, delightful Narcissa. Such soft skin..." Meads said almost dreamily and had the pleasure of seeing Lucius unable to control an eye twitch before repeating in a harsh tone: "What do you want?"

"Leave my wife alone."

Meads was quiet for a moment before laughing.

"It's funny, you know, Lucius. Your son came over here with the same idea as you, except he actually asked for something useful in return. Junior is more clever than you."

"What did Draco ask for?" Lucius asked, suddenly intrigued that Draco had already struck a deal with Meads.

"Draco and I go a long way, don't we? He came to me when you were in Azkaban. Your son actually asked me to help him make a contribution to St Mungo's, the same Narcissa asked me all these months ago. Except Draco and I could agree on terms."

"I don't know why Draco would need you," Lucius said contemptuously. "He's got Greengrass's help in getting the same."

Meads's smile remained on his face, as if affixed to it permanently as the weight of Malfoy's words sank in. Malfoy Junior had played him. He had never had any intention to keep his part of the bargain.

"A surprise, isn't it?" Lucius added with superiority. "I must say I'm proud of Draco for thinking so well. The boy is clever. He's my son, after all. As for me, here's what I need from you. You'll leave London and close your business, which will leave a nice market for Malfoy Apothecaries to expand. If not, I will personally go to see the Aurors and tell them what I know," he added with superb calm.

"You've always been a snake, Lucius," Meads said as casually as he would have discussed the weather. "However, you seem to always be missing some element in your plans," he added as he quickly drew his wand and aimed it. "I don't want any part of your plan."

Lucius deflected the curse easily, even with the somewhat inferior wand that was now his.

"Very well, I'll go and get to the Aurors. At least, I gave you a chance. Oh, and this," Lucius aimed the wand at Meads with a menacing look, is for Narcissa, you bastard."

A red jet of light flew, which Meads barely escaped. More curses were exchanged until one man was thrown backward and tripped, hitting his head against the massive oak desk, and falling to the ground with an ominous thump, as life left his body.


	26. A Night to Remember, Part 2

**A/N** _So, in case you were wondering, no I didn't die. I just took a vacation. I am way behind in reviewing and replying to reviews but slowly catching up :)_

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads this fiction and a special thank you to all of you who take the time to leave lovely reviews._

_Without further ado, here's part two._

_Disclaimer: I mustn't tell lies: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me._

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><p><strong>Chapter 26: A Night to Remember, Part 2<strong>

"Ah, here you are, " Higgins said as Ron and Harry almost ran into the Auror department. "Sorry to call you with such short notice," he apologised. As you can see, I was on my way too. Wouldn't want to miss that for all the gold in Gringotts," he added as he brushed off a lint from his dress robes.

"What do you have for us?" Harry asked.

"Jameson finally admitted a few things. Yes, he had an affair with Flavia Caldwell and she did threaten suicide many times when he broke things off. Obviously, that didn't sway him and he moved on to another mistress."

"A real gentleman, that one," Neville commented with sarcasm.

"Indeed," Higgins agreed. "Nevertheless, Jameson and Meads used to be tight. Obviously, they weren't anymore after that. Seems that Meads had an unhealthy attraction to his sister."

"You mean..."

Ron didn't finish his sentence as they all understood where Higgins was going. He just shuddered in revulsion.

"Anyway, Meads promised retribution, even if it would take years."

"How did Jameson end up telling you all that?" Ron asked with curiosity.

"Well, the elf. After we talked again with her last week, she shared other information about her old master with us, such as where he kept some highly irregular artefacts. Took us a while to get the paperwork to search his house but we were able to do so today and he started being a lot more talkative all of a sudden about the nature and history of his relationship with Meads."

"Why didn't he talk before?"

"Because he still needed a business relation with Meads more than he cared about his dead wife. As Longbottom said, a real gentleman, that one."

"Did he know his wife and Meads were having an affair?" Harry asked.

"I think that helped untie Jameson's tongue, actually. He might have forgotten she even was there when she was alive, collecting mistresses, some of them her own friends. Yet, he wouldn't tolerate his wife having any fun of her own, now would he?"

"He just underestimated what the elf knew and what she could do, especially after being cast off so easily," Ron noted, prouder than ever of Hermione's work.

"Precisely. But there's more. I called you here because we finally have enough evidence and the paperwork to arrest Meads. The Aurors following him have reported he made a visit to Gringotts and to the Department of international transportation."

"He's trying to leave the country, isn't he?" Ron deduced.

"Looks like it, yes. I think he might've noticed we were tailing him. He's not stupid and Smith wasn't exactly a model of discretion last night. Latest we have, he was at his home and hasn't left yet. We just need to get him."

"Well, let's go then, " Ron said enthusiastically. "We have a party to go to!"

* * *

><p>"Still no news?" Ginny inquired as she handed a glass of butterbeer to a somewhat frazzled-looking Hermione.<p>

Hermione seized the glass and took a long sip before answering:

"Plenty, actually. I've just been fired."

"You what?"

"Hobbes sacked me. No need to go back on Monday."

"He really is an arse," Ginny commented. "Has he left?"

"Don't know and I don't care," Hermione replied sullenly.

"Well, if he's here, don't be surprised if I clumsily drop my drink in his face."

That had the desired effect and made Hermione laugh.

"Besides, after tonight, I doubt you'll need him or his job to help the elves."

"That's what I told him," Hermione replied somewhat sheepishly.

"Good. Now, the news I was asking about was Harry and Ron. Have you heard from them?"

"No," Hermione lamented in a voice that betrayed her mounting anxiety. "The banquet is supposed to start in thirty minutes."

"I'm sure they'll be there," Ginny replied soothingly. "Thy wouldn't miss this evening."

"Thank you," Hermione replied with genuine appreciation for her friend.

"In the meantime, I think Slughorn is coming your way, surely proud of his Slug Club alumna."

And as she talked with her former potions teacher, Hermione couldn't help glancing anxiously at the clock on the wall, every passing minute without Ron and Harry increasing her worry.

* * *

><p>When he came back to the room where everybody was huddled, Draco caught a glimpse of himself in a large mirror. His face no longer looked gaunt, weight having returned in the past year. But what surprised him was the dreamy smile and the spark in his eyes. What had happened to him? Where was his surly and arrogant self? And all he could think of was the feel of those red lips against his, tasting of mead and so many untold promises.<p>

That was bad. She was Greengrass's daughter and a spoilt brat with an annoying case of logorrhea. Yet, as embarrassing as it was, hers were only the second pair of lips he had ever kissed and fuck if her soft kiss didn't feel much better than Pansy's greedy ones.

He took a deep breath. He could not, would not fall for Astoria Greengrass. He just had to go through the evening and avoid her. She would leave him alone if he could just hang with his parents. Of course, he had to find them first, having not seen them since they had made a remarked entrance. He just had to look for them.

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><p>"You're sure this the right house? It looks empty," Higgins said.<p>

"We put his floor under surveillance and placed an anti-Disapparition charm on the area. The only way out is through the door, Sir," Smith replied to Higgins.

"And did anyone leave?"

"Yes, his manservant left about an hour ago."

"Let's go and get in, then. We need to arrest Meads."

They knocked for good form and as nobody came to open the door, just used magic to do so.

There was a man sprawled on the sofa, obviously under either a potent sleeping charm or quite inebriated. By all description, he looked like Acario Meads, except for the gray hair that started to appear amongst the jet black ones. As the man started coming about, his hair turned grayer and grayer, and his face rounder and rounder.

"Polyjuice potion," Ron and Harry said at the same time.

Higgins called Smith who had stayed outside:

"Oy, Smith, is that the manservant?"

Smith looked perplexed for a second until he connected the dots:

"Yes. Polyjuice, innit?"

"Yes, seems to be," Higgins confirmed. "I guess Meads used the same to disguise himself and leave under our nose," Higgins sighed with obvious disappointment.

"Smith, please take the manservant to Auror headquarters to make sure he's all right and ask him a few questions. Potter, Weasley, Longbottom, come with me. We're going to St Mungo's."

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><p>Narcissa kept playing with the elegant emerald bracelet. She had talked with many people, including Castor Greengrass and his wife about her and Lucius' generosity. She had to give it to Granger, this had been a good idea. Of course, she still didn't care much about the fate of house elves but neither had she about other causes she had supposedly supported in the past. As long as it didn't affect her or her family directly, she didn't have to.<p>

She was starting to worry about Lucius. He had said thirty minutes and that had been almost an hour ago. She retreated to a quieter corridor just off the main room when she saw Granger walk towards her.

"Miss Granger, I must congratulate you," she said in a haughty voice. "You managed to gather some very influential wizards. This is undeniably a success. Where are your two acolytes?"

"Ron and Harry had to deal with a last minute work emergency. This is what I need to talk with you about. That means a slight change of plans for the banquet opening toast. And speaking of absent people, where are your husband and son?"

"Draco is a man and can do as he pleases. Last I saw him, he was talking with Castor Greengrass's daughter."

And that had been a surprise. It was the younger Greengrass daughter that Draco had shown interest in. There was no mistaking his body language. Her boy was attracted to Astoria Greengrass. While she wouldn't deprive him of a tryst, there was no way this could be a good idea while they were working with Greengrass. She would have to talk with Draco.

"As for Lucius..."

"She didn't have time to finish.

"Darling, you're calling me."

Relief washed over her face.

"Lucius, Miss Granger was looking for you."

He turned toward Hermione inquisitively.

"Miss Granger?"

"There's been a slight change of plans for the banquet that we need to discuss."

"Very well. Could we find a ... quieter place? And where's Draco?"

"We can brief him later," Hermione replied shortly. "Follow me, there's a private room off there.

The minute they were in the room, Hermione barely had time to face Lucius and Narcissa before the former took advantage of her lowered guard and swiftly disarmed her.

* * *

><p>"Is he... dead?"<p>

"Yes, Weasley. By all looks, he is," Higgins replied as he stopped looking for an inexistent pulse.

"Fuck," Ron murmured. "Sorry," he quickly apologised.

"'s all right," Higgins said with a small wave of his hand. "I think that's the appropriate word here."

"His last spell was the Cruciatus curse," Harry said as put the wand back where he had found it, having performed the necessary spell to find its final deeds.

At the word Cruciatus, Ron's brain immediately switched to Hermione.

"Harry, Hermione. She's alone. She'll be in danger."

Higgins took in the look of sheer anxiety on his most promising trainees and made a quick decision

"Longbottom, please stay here until the body can be picked up. Potter, Weasley, go find Miss Granger. As for me, I'm going back to headquarters to get some reinforcement. Go! Now!"

Harry and Ron didn't wait for the seasoned Auror to repeat his command and just Disapparated on the spot.

* * *

><p>Draco had scanned the entire room and there was still no sign of his parents. He was doubtful they had already left. This evening was all his mother had dreamt of for the last year: Influential people, the press, the opportunity to get their name prominently featured. Maybe his parents needed some time to discuss something and had sought a quieter place like he just had escaped earlier with Astoria.<p>

He started for the corridor he had followed earlier that evening, surprising himself by humming the splendid melody she had played on the piano. He spotted them as they rounded toward a door. He was still humming and didn't call them out, figuring he would catch up fast enough. He wondered what his parents wanted to discuss with Granger, that required a private room.

He made it to the door just after it had been shut. His hand was still suspended in the air, ready to knock, and he was still humming when he heard the cold drawling voice of his father yelling "Expelliarmus". Why would his father disarm Granger or worse, his mother? He had to do something, be it open the door or yell but he found himself frozen in place, brought back to a different time and scene as he heard Granger's short scream. And like before, he was too much of a coward to do anything.

* * *

><p>Hermione had cried at the surprise of being disarmed. While she had never trusted Lucius Malfoy, she hadn't expected him to disarm her. She couldn't help the scream that escaped her lips.<p>

"Lucius, what are you doing?" came Narcissa's cold and furious voice.

Hermione found her own voice and courage back:

"It's unwise to disarm me, especially after all the work your wife has done to get your name back. And don't forget about our deal and what will happen if you don't hold your part of the bargain."

"Ha, yes, that. Obviously our deal served me well so far, didn't it? I'm still a free man. But this is where it ends."

Narcissa walked in front of him, straight as a rod, and with barely contained fury told him:

"I won't let you ruin this, Lucius. I'll leave you if you don't stop this nonsense at this instant. I've worked too hard."

"That you have, Darling Narcissa. Although you didn't do everything you could, now did you?" he asked with mild amusement.

He then reached out around her and pulled her in a greedy kiss. Narcissa fought at first, then went lax and finally went rigid. He took the opportunity offered by her momentary surprise to seize the wand that had slid into her hand.

When the couple pulled apart, Hermione didn't miss the fact that Narcissa was also wandless and that the expression on her face had radically changed, having morphed from the earlier defiant look into one of comprehension and unmistakable fear.

"You... You're not Lucius," the older woman stammered just as dark strands of hair started shooting from his scalp, melding with and soon overtaking the platinum blond ones.

"Acario Meads," Hermione said in a low voice as the transformation finished and she recognized the man Ron and Harry were supposed to arrest tonight.

She felt ice in her veins as she contemplated that Harry and Ron were still absent whilst Meads was still a free man, who had managed to get his hands on Lucius Malfoy's hair within the last hour.

"Oh, I guess the Polyjuice Potion is running out, isn't it?" Meads said with the same jovial tone he might have used to discuss a particularly nice day.

"Where's Lucius?" Narcissa asked , panic creeping in her voice.

"Ah, Dear Lucius. Always had a penchant for getting his nose where it did not belong. That and scheming on his friends. Tsk-tsk. Such a bad habit."

"Where's Lucius?" Narcissa repeated, her fear still evident, but her spine straighter.

She had faced worse adversaries than Acario Meads. She had lied to the Dark Lord.

"I'm afraid he's indisposed at present," Meads replied nonchalantly.

Hermione's brain was working at furious speed. Malfoy must have found out about Meads's involvement with the poison and must have tried to blackmail Meads. Except it had failed and she had little doubt about the fate of Lucius Malfoy: he was dead.

She had to find a way to get Meads talking. People would come looking for her, chief amongst them Ron and Harry. That was if they were still... But no, she couldn't think that way.

"Why?" Hermione asked in a slightly strained voice. "Why did you kill Jocasta?"

"I see," Meads said, his curiosity obviously piqued. "You know a lot more than you let out, Miss Granger."

He sat on the sofa, missing the wild look Narcissa threw at Hermione, silently questioning the latter's course of action. Hermione blinked once, trying to reassure the older woman that she was buying them time. There was little doubt in her mind that whether or not she told him about knowing he had killed Jocasta, he would end up killing both of them in the end. Narcissa seemed to understand and blinked back once.

"It's a long story, I'm afraid, and we don't have the luxury of time, do we?"

"Was it because of your sister?" Hermione pursued. "What Jameson did to her?"

And she knew she had won a point when a crack started appearing in his facade and he violently spat out:

"He all but killed her. He abandoned her, disposed of her as if she were no more than a piece of rubbish."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione said with genuine empathy for Flavia who had been a victim, just like Jocasta. "What about Jocasta?"

Meads had substantially calmed down after his outburst and a slow and cold grin bloomed on his face.

"Dear Jocasta. I don't think there ever was a more frivolous person in the history of the wizarding world. She actually came to seek me after Jameson had another one of his affairs. It was easy, really."

There was such horrifying and casual coldness in his words. Yet, the longer he talked, the higher their chance someone would come looking for them so Hermione swallowed her repulsion and just listened. Narcissa seemed to know Meads better and just asked him:

"How was it easy, Acario?"

"The foolish woman literally threw herself at me. Telling me how Flavia used to speak highly of M's. We started seeing each other and I knew I had my revenge against Jameson."

"By having his wife," Narcissa automatically completed. "Is that why you tried to pursue me too?"

"No, dear Narcissa. I just wanted you. I had my revenge against that snake of your husband."

Hermione saw understanding dawning on the older woman's face and thought it wise to take over.

"So you killed her?"

"She had planned to leave her husband and operated under the delusion that I would drop all my life in England to follow her to some far away locale."

He paused, seemingly still incredulous at how stupid Jocasta Jameson had been.

"That's when I knew I had to end it. What did it matter if she decided to kill herself? Good riddance."

"But she didn't kill herself, did she? You did that," Hermione said.

For a brief moment, there was a fleeting look of regret in his eyes.

"She knew too much. She threatened to tell St Mungo's about my side business. Of all the people who know, I have enough incriminating evidence against them that we agree to a mutual silence. Yet, Jocasta seemed unfazed by the prospect of Jameson knowing about our affair. She was through with her husband."

He sighed.

"I didn't have a choice, did I? I poured some poison in her tea. It didn't take long. I prepare good poisons after all."

"Why masking it as a werewolf murder?"

"Why not?" he answered. "Obviously, the Aurors have become more clever but you have to admit, it was a good way to muddle the waters."

Hermione shuddered lightly at the detachment Meads seemed to have vis-à-vis the murder and post-mortem mutilation of a woman he had had a relationship with.

"Now," Meads said, "I need to tend to the two of you, don't I?"

Hermione turned to Narcissa whose already pale complexion had turned ashen as she had learned of Lucius' fate. She now seemed completely removed from the situation. Hermione was surprised to see her talk:

"How did you kill Lucius, Acario?"

"Caught on, haven't you, Narcissa? Actually, it seems he had some misfiring with his wand. It stopped working shortly after he tried to Cruciate me. It was easy afterwards," he added with disdain.

Hermione's blood seemed to freeze in her veins: Lucius had lost his magical powers because of his use of an Unforgivable curse but also because of the deal they had made. She had always known it would be difficult for Lucius Malfoy to resist using dark magic, had known there was a real possibility he might become a Squib at his own hands and had forewarned him. Yet, she had never contemplated he might lose his life as a result. Was she any better than Lucius Malfoy when her schemes had resulted in the death of someone?

Narcissa's barely audible voice drew her out of her self-loathing.

"Maybe we can still reach an agreement, Acario."

"My dear, I seriously doubt that. Miss Granger here has a reputation and I don't think she'll keep her mouth shut. As for you, Narcissa dear, your family has shown over and over how deals have no value to you."

"More people know," Hermione cut him off. "Harry, Ron, the entire Aurors unit, actually. They were just waiting for you to give concrete evidence and you've done just that."

"Enough,"Meads interrupted impatiently as he raised his wand. And as Hermione closed her eyes, bracing herself for the unavoidable, she just thought back of Ron's joyous smile as she had accepted his proposal and whispered his name.

* * *

><p>Draco had finally come back to his senses, putting away Granger's haunting screams, past and present. There was undeniably no love lost between his parents and Granger, nor between him and Granger. Yet, he couldn't fathom that his parents would intentionally hurt Granger. Not now.<p>

He glued his ear against the thick door and tried to listen but could only hear muffled sounds. He tried to open the door, both manually and magically, to no avail. Someone had cast a strong privacy spell that a simple Alohamora would not break. He tried a few other charms, even tried to Apparate inside. Nothing worked, yet his instinct told him he needed to get in. He was exhausting the list of possibilities when the slightly out of breath voice of the Chosen One interrupted him:

"Malfoy!"

"Potter, Weasley. About time you showed up for your own party , don't you think?" Draco remarked haughtily.

"We're looking for Hermione," Ron said. "And you and your mother as well."

"Your girlfriend is behind this door, Weasley," Draco answered contemptuously, with my parents."

"As in your mother and father?" Harry asked.

"I know you don't remember, Potter, but yes, that's what parents are."

One look at Harry's sombre face told Draco that there was something singularly wrong.

"What is it, Potter? Weasley?"

"We found your father tonight," Ron replied in a monotonous tone that belied his discomfort at delivering the bad news. "He's... He's dead," he added in a barely audible voice.

There was a moment of silence whilst Draco processed what he had just heard. Surely, Potter and Weasley were mistaken or just playing a horrible prank on him. Yet, their long faces said otherwise. Draco took a deep cleansing breath, composing himself. He couldn't allow such silly things as tears to betray the conflicting emotions currently raging in him. When he felt he could control the trembling in his voice, he spoke:

"Then who is there with my mother and your girlfriend, Weasley?"

"We think it's Meads," Harry answered quietly. "Polyjuice," he added and saw Draco was putting two and two together.

"Which is why we need to get in," Ron added with urgency.

"I've tried," Draco said. "I can't get through."

"Fuck!" Ron swore loudly as he kicked the wall vindictively.

"Ron," Harry tried to pacify him. "Hermione isn't helpless."

"I heard her scream," Draco said quietly, absent his usual haughtiness.

"Why do you care, little fuck," Ron exploded. "If you just had the bollocks of giving us what you knew about Meads rather than send a memory, we might've already put him in Azkaban."

"My mother is there too," Draco yelled back, quite defensive.

They were about to spar more when a voice came from Ron's trousers pocket. He would recognise her voice anywhere and quickly reached for the familiar silver object.

Harry automatically seized his arm, readying himself for the side-along apparition, as Ron opened the Deluminator and a small blue ball of light appeared and engulfed them.

* * *

><p>The wand was pointed at her, the spell mere seconds from being said. She braced herself, calling his name softly, wondering what death would be like when she heard Narcissa speak:<p>

"Acario, it doesn't have to be that way. We can negotiate."

Narcissa had reached for him, exuding a calm that seemed out of sort in their current situation.

Meads kept his wand raised at Hermione but turned to look at Narcissa before laughing coldly:

"Nice try, Narcissa, but it's too late."

Narcissa's hand gesture was barely perceptible but Hermione saw the slender index finger pointing at the wand and upward and understood. With Meads distracted, she didn't hesitate another instant and kicked his wrist as hard as she could, sending the wand out of his hand and high in the air.

The three of them launched for it as it landed on the floor. Hermione reached it first and felt Meads' much heavier body land on her and effectively trapping hers, his hands reaching around her neck, squeezing the air and life out of her.

She was quickly fading when she heard the popping noise of an Apparition and felt Meads being lifted off her, violently blasted by a powerful stunning spell. And she heard Ron's voice softly and yet urgently whispering her name as his large hands gently cradled her face. As she slowly slipped into unconsciousness, all she could think of was that her knight had come and saved her again.


	27. Guilt and Grief

**A/N **_Well, it took me a long time but here's an update. This chapter is a transition, tying some ends and setting things up for the last part of the story. I know my update schedule is quite sporadic so I want to once again thank everyone who sticks with this story. A special thank you to all of you who take the time to review or PM me. Your continuous support is very greatly appreciated :)_

**_Disclaimer: _**_I must not tell lies... Harry Potter isn't mine._

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><p><strong>Chapter 27: Guilt and Grief<strong>

Busy evening for Golden Trio' read the headline of the Daily Prophet.

The article described how the evening had been a smashing success until it was swarmed by the Aurors who arrested Acario Meads for the murder of Jocasta Jameson. No more details were given. Not the fact that his mother and Granger had been taken to St Mungo's. Nor that his father had been killed by Meads too.

His father's death barely registered a few column inches on page nine, buried between a report on a quidditch star and an advert for broomsticks.

How trivial and undignified.

He rose and stretched up, trying to overcome the sleep he hadn't got the previous night and thinking he needed to get out of his dress robes. Yet, there was still the very faint smell of Astoria on it. Her perfume wasn't strong or coy but it kept lingering, a smell he would describe as joyous, just like her. And he could use some joy at present.

"Draco?"

"Mother?" he asked, uncertain how to deal with her.

They had spent most of the night at St Mungo's. He had brewed the calming draught for her himself. Not once had she wept. They had made it back to his flat in the very early morning hours. It had been easier for her to spend what remained of the awful night at her son's flat rather than head back to Wiltshire, alone. Although Draco perfectly knew he would have to accompany her when she went back, as loath as he was to return to the Manor.

He looked at his mother who stood rigid in the door jamb, still wearing her evening gown and looking paler and older than he had ever seen her. Her face was devoid of make-up and he could discern the puffiness underneath her eyes, betraying the lack of sleep or maybe the tears she might have shed in private for the flawed man she had loved.

"Why don't you sit down? Would you like a cup of tea, some toasts? I can order something from the Leaky," he told her soothingly.

"Just a tea, please. And Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Please put something strong in it."

He had never known his mother to drink more than the occasional glass of wine but didn't question her and just did as he was bidden.

She took a few fortifying sips from the hot cup before talking again:

"We'll need to plan the funeral. I'll need your help."

He had expected that much and nodded to confirm his agreement. He finally asked her:

"What happened last night?"

"Looks like your father went to visit Meads and tried to blackmail him. They fought and your father used the Crucitaus curse, not remembering Granger's warning."

And Draco remembered Granger's words. Use dark magic and become a Squib. Of course, it had then been easy for Meads to defeat Lucius Malfoy. As skilled a duelist his father had been, he had needed magic for that purpose. And now he was dead. It was all because of the Mudblood's stupid plan, all her fault.

* * *

><p>He had not spent much time in St Mungo's but had always hated the place. One never came here for happy purposes in his opinion.<p>

He was sitting in a chair by a bed, his body sore from the awkward sitting position and from a sleepless night. The healer had assured him she would be fine once she woke up from the potion-induced sleep, except for a very hoarse voice.

He had watched her sleep all night, thrashing wildly as nightmares seemed to invade her sleep. She had called his name several time and her hand had reached for his, which he had quickly offered. It calmed her every time.

He barely registered the knock on the door until he heard Harry's voice asking whether he could come in.

"She's still asleep?" Harry asked, visibly worried and exhausted.

"It's only been a few hours and the potions are strong."

I brought clothes for you and her," Harry added. "Ginny helped me."

And Ron noticed for the first time that Harry had had time to change into comfortable jeans and jumper.

"Meads is in Azkaban. Higgins reckons he's gonna be there for a while between two murders, assaults, and the poison business."

"Serves him right. Although I can't believe Malfoy is dead."

"It seems that he lost his magical abilities after he used the Cruciatus curse."

"Just as Hermione had told him would happen," Ron sighed as he gently caressed her face. "Y'know she's probably gonna feel guilty for that sorry wanker dying."

"I don't doubt it," Harry agreed. "Why don't you go and change? I can stay with her for now," Harry offered.

"No need," Ron said as he started stripping in the room.

He was down to his boxers when he heard a faint and hoarse voice:

"Are you going to take it all off?"

"Hermione!"

It only took two steps for his long legs to close the distance to her bed so he could give a tight hug.

"How are you feeling?" he quickly asked her.

"I'm all right," she reassured him. "Where's Meads?"

"In Azkaban,"Harry replied.

"Good," she mumbled to herself before her face grew sombre.

"What is it?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Lucius Malfoy. He's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed as Ron finally put a pair of jeans on. "It seems he and Meads had a fight and Meads killed him."

"It was my fault," Hermione said in a very hollow voice. "Meads told us. Malfoy lost his magical abilities. It was part of the deal."

"Hermione," Harry started. "Malfoy decided to use a Cruciatus curse on Meads. He knew..."

"You also used Cruciatus once, Harry," she reminded him coldly.

"I did," he acquiesced calmly. "Doesn't mean it was the right thing to do."

"Love," Ron pacified her. "Harry's right. Malfoy had a choice, he knew what would happen. It was his fault."

"He was a vile person," Hermione agreed, "but he wouldn't be dead if he hadn't lost his magical abilities."

"No," Ron said vehemently. "He wouldn't be dead if he hadn't tried to blackmail Meads. See, it was his choice all along."

Hermione still didn't look fully convinced but dropped the topic nonetheless.

"On a happier note," Harry said to break the uncomfortable silence that had set, "good news, the evening was quite successful. We got a lot of donations and actually exceeded your goal quite a bit."

That seemed to perk her up.

"Really? Does that mean we have enough to launch the Centre?"

"Yes, Ron confirmed. "You did it."

"I couldn't have done it without you," she smiled shyly. "The pair of you. You supported me from the start."

"Well," Ron started while raking his fingers through his hair, a clear sign he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say.

"I know," Hermione smiled mischievously. " You only did it to get me to stop pestering you at the beginning."

She had to smile at Ron and Harry's contrite faces.

"But you stayed with me. Thank you."

"So Hobbes might have to take you more seriously now, won't he?" Ron said lightly.

"I think it's too late," she admitted. "He sacked me yesterday evening."

"You're joking, right?" Ron asked incredulously.

"No, I'm not," she replied with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry told her sympathetically.

"Me too," Ron added. "For that arse 'cause that's definitely gonna put an end to his career especially after how successful the evening was last night."

She had to give a genuine smile at hearing them both.

"Well, I actually have an idea," she said beaming. "I think that now that we have a full centre, someone needs to run it."

"And that person would be you," Ron concluded.

"And I can just walk to work," she added with a smile.

"Which reminds me," Ron said, "we still need to tell my parents about moving in together. Dad kind of suggested it. Mum, on the other hand. She might not appreciate the fact there's only one bedroom."

"Just tell her the other news and she won't even notice the one bedroom issue," Hermione replied.

"The other news? You mean that you got sacked."

"No, of course not,"

"I'm still here," Harry reminded them but was ignored.

"Ron, come on, the other news" Hermione emphasised impatiently.

She paused trying to convey what other news she was referring to and to not feel annoyed when she saw him give a heartfelt laugh.

"Of course, I know which other news. Should we tell the specky bloke here?" he asked while nodding in Harry's direction.

"What news?" Harry asked teetering between excitement and dread at what news his two best friends might have in store for him.

"Ron asked me to marry him," Hermione started, beaming.

"And she said yes," Ron completed with unbridled enthusiasm before stealing a quick kiss.

Harry shouldn't have been stunned as he had seen the relationship evolve over many years. Yet, he found words difficult to form.

"When did that happen?" he finally managed.

"Yesterday morning," Ron replied happily.

"Yesterday morning? I don't see a ring," Harry noticed.

"It was more spur of the moment," Ron offered.

As some hypotheses started forming in Harry's head, he couldn't help asking:

"How? How did that happen?"

"Thank you for your congratulations," Hermione replied primly at the exact same time that Ron uttered "You probably don't wanna know."

Harry turned from one to the other:

"Yeah, congrats. Very happy for you," he offered Hermione sheepishly before turning back to Ron, slightly puzzled: "What d'you mean?"

The red tint suddenly appearing on the tip of Ron's ears told Harry everything he needed to know and resulted in a grimace of slight repulsion.

"Right," Harry finally said, clearly at a loss for other words on the matter.

"I'll be on my way, then. And, oh, I also need to tell you, Higgins wants to see us tomorrow morning, seven o'clock sharp."

Ron groaned at hearing the early time but quickly dismissed it as he thought he still had most of his Sunday to take Hermione back home and spend quality time with her.

* * *

><p>It was easy making decisions, randomly picking options of flowers and wood for the coffin as his mother made suggestions. It was all as if looking through an hour glass, a reality existing in another universe, one he was watching from afar. There were owls to dispatch to send the announcement to carefully selected people. Doubt still assailed him as to whether they would come but he wasn't about to dampen his mother's resolve.<p>

After several hours spent at the Manor, his first visit in well over a year, he felt like he was about to suffocate, smothered by unhappy memories all wanting to invade his brain at once. He spoke softly:

"I think I'll be on my way, Mother."

"All right," came her absent answer. "Draco?"

"Yes?" he replied as he started packing his belongings in an old leather satchel, the same one he had used at Hogwarts.

"I need to show you something. Your father's will."

He sighed, not ready to deal with any of this.

"Is it really the moment?" he asked with unmasked annoyance and immediately regretted his words as he saw his mother's face grow even more ashen.

Yet, there had always been surprising facts about his mother, many of which he had discovered only in the past few years. She closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself. When she reopened them, maybe it was Draco's imagination but her spine looked straighter and her face had gained some colour back.

"I need you to look at it today. It affects you and your future."

"Very well. Let's go and look at it."

She led him to the room he had set foot in on only very few occasions, some of them not pleasant ones as his father had belittled him for having marks below those of the Mudblood. The room was all set in dark woods and comfortable leather, smelling of books, candle wax, and undeniably some of the finest Firewhiskey.

The massive desk that sat in the middle of the room was well organized, a quill and inkwell on its top right corner, a few blank parchment leaves just below. On the left corner, there was a photo of a much younger version of his mother, all radiant as she held a small blond haired baby, who wanted to grab her long hair. Next to the photo stood a dragon made of parchment paper, crudely decorated with green and black ink, and held together with magic. Draco remembered making it, a gift to his father when he had been only seven. He hadn't had a wand then and it had just been the sheer determination of showing his father that he wasn't a squib that had allowed the innate magic to escape him and morph the paper into a dragon. And Lucius had kept it. It cost Draco a great effort, drawing from deep within him, not to let the stubborn tear that had welled behind his eyelid to escape down his cheek.

His mother pretended not to notice, probably too much engrossed in her own struggle for composure. She handed him an envelope, already opened and bearing her name in his father somewhat pretentiously ornate handwriting.

Narcissa silently invited her son to read.

He slowly unfolded the missive and began reading.

"My darling Cissy,

If you find this letter, an addendum to my will, it means two things: I am no longer alive and I haven't fully reconciled with Draco.

As you know, upon my demise, the Malfoy fortune and Malfoy Apothecaries will be exclusively yours. You've shown lately that you could still love me despite all and I trust you will steer things in the proper direction. I wish I had trusted your decisions earlier and that we hadn't wasted most of last year on account of my stupidity. While I am not ready quite yet to write Draco back in my will, I would like for him to benefit from Malfoy Apothecaries once you deem him mature and able enough. Hopefully, I will see him reach that stage soon enough and you will never read this. But in case it doesn't happen in time, I trust you will do the right thing.

Love, always,

Lucius"

Draco quietly folded the letter back and carefully put it back in the envelope, the action taking his mind away from the jarring emotions that tried to dominate him: anger, resentment, and still some grief. He took a deep breath and looked back at his mother, who was scrutinising him.

"I want you to take over Malfoy Apothecary. It's yours and your duty."

His first instinct was to let out a mirthless laugh. It was so typical of his mother to think of duty and anything owed a name before even thinking about how he, Draco, could feel about the entire ordeal.

"I don't want it," he replied. "Not now," he added softly when he saw his mother's dejected look.

"Why not, Draco?"

There was no reproach in her voice, just sincere curiosity about his decision.

"I dunno."

And he didn't except for the fact that it wasn't time yet to accept the post mortem gift from his father. There just had been too many strings attached to previous offerings and he didn't have any inclination to deal with it at that time.

"Mother, you're perfectly capable of running the Apothecary. Or sell it if you want. I'm just not ready."

And there it was, the truth. He wasn't ready. Not ready to take over the family flourishing enterprise, not ready to abandon his blossoming career in potions– and his access to Astoria–, not ready to accept his father was dead.

"I will be on my way," he added gently as he kissed his mother's cheek.

He didn't wait for her reply and just Disapparated home.

* * *

><p>"Why do you think Kingsley want to speak with us?" Ron asked, somewhat puzzled that the Minister of Magic had requested a private appointment with Harry, Hermione, and him.<p>

"He'll tell us," Harry replied reassuringly.

"Yes, I will," the booming voice said from behind them.

They rose all at once.

"Sit down," Kingsley replied with amusement in his voice. There are a few things I need to discuss with you three."

They did as bidden and waited for Kingsley to sit but he chose to stand by a window that magically gave a view of the busy London street above them.

"I asked you here because of the conditions of Malfoy's death. Meads has spoken a lot and said Malfoy's death was a result of Malfoy becoming a squib all of a sudden."

Hermione shrunk in her seat, consuming guilt clearly etched on her face.

"He's trying to shorten the length of his stay in Azkaban, which is unlikely," Kingsley mused. "I want to know if he imparted such news to Narcissa Malfoy and you when you were in that room," Kingsley finally asked.

"He... he did," Hermione confirmed.

"So Narcissa Malfoy knows her husband died partly because he lost his powers," Kingsley asked again.

Hermione nodded affirmatively and Kingsley sighed deeply.

"Now, Hermione, I know you are going to think it's your fault and I want to reassure you it was all Lucius's doing. He went to Meads to blackmail him. Seems Malfoy junior wasn't the only one who had figured out Meads had killed Jocasta Jameson."

"I insisted on this vow," Hermione interrupted in a barely audible voice.

"You gave them a choice," Harry countered. They could've faced a trial and gone to Azkaban instead."

"They should have," Ron added sullenly. "For what they did."

"That's besides the point," Kingsley interrupted. "My worry is that Meads will talk more. Some people will dig as to why Lucius Malfoy might have lost his powers and don't underestimate what they can find out. What I mean is that the details of the vow may come out. My other worry is that Narcissa Malfoy knows, which means Draco Malfoy will know too the conditions of his father's death. I think we will want to monitor his reaction."

"Are you afraid Draco will do something rash?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Kingsley acknowledged. "But I wouldn't rule it completely out. I just want you to be careful."

"Malfoy scheming against us is nothing new or that we can't handle," Ron said as he put a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"I know," Kingsley replied with a smile. "And on this note, I have some other news. I already told Neville an hour ago, but based on Higgins's recommendation, you are now ready to be full Aurors."

"We don't have to finish the training?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I think training was more for form, wasn't it? You were ready to become full Aurors after the Battle."

* * *

><p>As he had predicted, his father's funeral was poorly attended and he suspected some of the people were there out of simple morbid curiosity or for the refined food his mother had ordered. Even in bereavement, his mother had to show what class was. She was standing rigidly, clad entirely in black and a thin sheet of lace hiding her face, which he knew to be devoid of tears. She had retreated in her own world, especially after his refusal to take over Malfoy Apothecary for the time being.<p>

As Draco tried not to focus too much on how lonely he felt, he disappeared in the vast gardens of the manor, looking for he knew not what. He didn't expect to find her there.

"Astoria?"

She turned around, as if she had been expecting him.

"Hi, Draco. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Why? You didn't even know my father and yours despised him."

It came out a lot more venomous than the detached tone Draco had intended.

"I'm sorry," he quickly murmured.

She said nothing, just took his arm and led him on a slow walk across the alleys of magnificent shrubbery.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts tomorrow," she announced. "I just wanted to say good-bye."

"Isn't that why most people attend a funeral?" he deadpanned and had the pleasure of seeing her smile at his macabre humour.

"I'm not most people, and neither are you," she replied before stopping and turning to face him.

And this time, it was he who bent down and took her lips in a slow kiss, the softness and warmth of her lips pure solace against all the emotions battling within him.

"Here's to seeing you again," he whispered.

She was looking at him intently, not blushing or blinking, as if completely unaffected by his kiss. She definitely wasn't an ordinary girl and that was all right with him.

"I will remember," she finally offered in a light tone before gently touching his clean shaven face with a very soft hand.

She strode away, leaving him mesmerised amidst all the ornate topiaries.

* * *

><p>The funeral was over, his father now permanently resting under a large mound of earth, next to his grandparents.<p>

He saw his mother standing by the tombstone, her delicate fingers tracing the lettering on the granite that indicated her widowhood.

The entire day, she had been an example of grace and dignity, never letting a crack appear in her façade. She spoke without facing him.

"I heard that Meads is talking to the Aurors. I know what happened with you and him three years ago. Bella took you to him to get poison, didn't she?"

His silence was enough acknowledgment.

"These were dark times, Draco. You had to do things to survive," she made the excuse for him. "Potter and his friends know too, don't they?"

"They do," he replied laconically.

"We have a deal with them," she said bitterly as she remembered that some of terms of that deal were the reason she was standing by a tombstone. "but not Meads."

"His word against mine. Bellatrix purchased the poison, not me."

"Smart of her," Narcissa said, wondering whether her late sister had done it to protect Draco. She somehow didn't believe it.

"I suggested it, saying it was too dangerous as it could blow my cover if Meads was found. She called me a coward but bought the poison."

Narcissa sighed.

"Just be careful," she told him as she finally turned to face him, seemingly having aged by ten years during the day. "I don't want to lose you," she added in a whisper as a tear finally made its way down her cheek, quickly followed by another. And like she had done so many times for him when he had been a young boy, Draco folded his mother in his arms and let her weep at last.

* * *

><p>There was something utterly familiar about seeing her, curled onto herself on the old and comfortable armchair, a gift from Bill and Fleur, Crookshanks lying lazily on her lap while she read what looked like a meaty book. Around her were various boxes packed and ready for the imminent move to their new flat, and a copy of the Prophet opened on an article titled 'Quiet funeral for Malfoy". Ron didn't pay it any mind and continued watching Hermione, his fiancée, he gleefully thought, as she kept reading.<p>

She was completely absorbed, seemingly unaware her left hand was toying with a loose curl, a gesture he'd always found endearing, even when they had been only twelve.

"Hey," he said softly so as not to startle her.

She looked up at him, a shy smile at the corner of her lips.

"How was your day, Auror Weasley?"

She didn't miss how he instantaneously stood taller as she said the simple words. He didn't know how each time she spoke them, there was this twisted fear in the pit of her stomach, for all the dangers he was placing himself into now that he was a full Auror. She had believed their days of constantly jeopardising their lives were over after the battle. Ron, and Harry for that matter, had had other plans. Yet, she loved Ron, more than she could have imagined possible and accepted his choice of career even if she didn't fully embrace it.

"It was tedious," he replied. "Paperwork. We need to finalise everything for the Meads case. Looks like the bastard has a lot of things to say on many people. Anything to reduce his sentence, although it's likely he'll be in Azkaban for a while."

At the mention of Meads, he saw her face tighten and the veil of guilt descend on it.

"It wasn't your fault, Love. Malfoy got himself killed."

"I know," she replied timidly, "at least, my brain does. But I can't help wonder whether things could've turned otherwise if I hadn't insisted on the deal with the Malfoys," she added with downcast eyes.

"A lot of things could've been different, couldn't they? The Malfoys could've chosen a different side. The ferret might've grown a pair of bollocks during the war. But you know what? It didn't happen. Love," he told her as she raised her eyes again to meet his, "you can't worry yourself other what could've happened differently 'cause it didn't."

"Since when did you become so insightful?" she asked him in a much lighter tone.

"I found my inner eye," he replied in a good imitation of Professor Trelawney and had the pleasure of seeing a genuine smile grace her face. "So tell me, how was your day?"

"I got a new hire at the Centre besides Nelly. Remember Winky?"

"Dobby's friend?"

"Yes, the one Crouch dismissed so coldly. Well, she'll work with me at the Centre. I spent the rest of the day researching elf law."

"Sounds like fun," he half-joked as he sat himself on the arm of the chair.

"I also received a visit from your mother who wants to know when we will set a date."

He smiled affectionately at the behaviour so typical of his mother. As expected, her reaction upon hearing of their engagement had been one of utmost excitement, that had drowned any reservation the Weasley matriarch might have harboured about Ron and Hermione moving together in a tiny one bedroom flat.

"Don't worry about Mum. She has Harry and Ginny to occupy her right now. Another wedding to plan would send the woman in the same spiral of madness we had for Bill's wedding. We have time, Love, no worries, I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," she told him as she snaked an arm around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

A while later, as they lay naked and sated in the large bed, Ron sighed of contentment, thinking his life couldn't be any better.


	28. Fire

**A/N: **_I am back! As always, I want to thank everyone who reads this story and a special thank you to the readers who kindly leave reviews._  
><em>This chapter picks up nine months after the previous one and is basically the set up for the last part of this story. Warning, there is some content worthy of the M rating.<em>  
><em>I hope you enjoy...<em>

**Disclaimer: _I must not tell lies... Harry Potter does not belong to me._**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28: Fire<strong>

Her laugh was resonating within the stairway as they made their way to the last floor. She seemed to be giddily happy and truth be told, he felt the same: slightly intoxicated, immensely happy, and more than a tad randy. All her fault it was, really. After a week they had spent apart because of a bloody mission in Wales, he had come back to Devon that morning foe he wouldn't miss Harry and Ginny's wedding for all the gold in Gringott's. And she had showed up wearing a maid of honour dress in a fiery red colour, with a tight bodice from where the top of her rounded breast teasingly peeked in a way that made him want to caress them and hold them in the perfect mould that were his hands. The bottom was made of many layers of fluffy fabric that stopped just at her knees, leaving her shapely legs bare and ready to be kissed. And then there were the vertiginously high heels of the open-toed shoes –fuck me shoes, Seamus had called them before Ron had punched his arm– that made her slender ankles so attractive, Muriel's opinion on the matter be damned.

And she had rubbed said legs, ankles, and fuck-me shoes shod feet –Seamus was right even if he wasn't allowed to say it aloud– around his own feet and legs, under the table. A few toasts and dances later and he had wholeheartedly agreed when she had told him to follow her upstairs to his orange lair.

And here they were, sneaking away from all the festivities, on their way to satisfy an urge that a week apart had only rendered more pressing. They passed by Percy's old room. Ron furtively thought that he hadn't seen Percy and his girlfriend Audrey since the dancing had began. As he came closer to the room, he heard unmistakable noises of two people in the throes of passion, or so it seemed, from behind the closed door. Ron stopped, visibly horrified:

"The twat doesn't know to use a muffling spell, does he?"

Hermione just burst into a fit of giggles, likely brought on by the three glasses of Champagne she had downed in the last hour. She just pulled him by the hand and they continued on their journey to the highest room in the Burrow.

When they reached it, she pulled Ron by his tie and shut the door close and sealed it with one swish of her wand. Even mildly drunk, she was able of outstanding magic.

They stumbled on his old, creaky, and too small bed, bouncing on the tired mattress. She was lying underneath him, in a cloud of fluffy fabric, her wild hair wanting to escape from the confines of the sleek bun it was held in, and her eyes shining happiness, love, and lust.

"You're beautiful," he told her before diving to take her red-painted lips in a searing kiss. Her hands snaked around his neck and brought him impossibly closer as her legs parted and he sank between them, cursing the layers of frilly clothes that kept their skins apart. While their lips were still attached he managed to get rid of the dress robes, undo his bow tie and unbutton his shirt. He was going to attack Hermione's dress when he stopped for a moment, realizing he had not the faintest idea how to remove the pretty dress without tearing it, something he was positive wouldn't be a good idea.

She saw his perplexity and kissed him one more time before reaching to his aid and undoing a well hidden zip. Underneath the red satin was her soft and bare skin, her round breasts teased in eager peaks, waiting for him.

In an odd mix of urgency and reverence, he descended on her and feasted on the soft skin, eliciting soft moans while her short nails dug into his shoulders. Slowly, methodically, he kissed, caressed and licked. His hand meandered south and underneath the many layers of frothy fabric before ascending her shapely thighs and finally resting on the piece of simple cotton that couldn't keep the heat and wetness underneath it hidden.  
>He pushed the encumbering fabric aside and his fingers went to work, touching, rubbing, plunging, and quickly bringing her into complete ecstasy.<p>

She was left literally purring, her eyes half-closed, curls escaping the confine of the elaborate hairdo, and sporting a smile that got him even harder. He wanted her with an intensity that had never waned and that could have scared others but not him. her eyes opened, bright pools of chocolate and fixed on him.

"Take me!"

She had said it in a soft whisper but there was no mistaking the bossiness of the request, nor was there any need for him to be told twice. Slowly he worked on undressing her, her knickers the first casualty, followed by the mountain of ruffles that was her dress. She was naked except for the bloody red shoes that had started it all. His clothes followed and landed on top of the heap, until he was as bare as her. As their body melded in an age-old rhythm, as he surrendered to being sheathed in her glorious heat, as he felt himself let go, he could only think this was sheer perfection.

* * *

><p>He didn't know how long they spent, lying together, basking in their post-coital bliss, but he knew they had to go back to the festivities before their absence became too conspicuous and people actually surmised what they had been doing. He slowly got out of the bed, missing instantly Hermione's warm and sleeping form, and started collecting his clothes and putting them back on, fuddling with the bow tie he was unaccustomed to. Once done, he went back on the bed and kissed Hermione's bare shoulder as she murmured:<p>

"We have to go back, don't we?"

"Yes," he said as he used his wand to lift the Muffliato charm. "We do."

"A pity, really. I've missed having you hog the bed," she said in reference to the week they had spent apart. "Although Crookshanks does a decent job of filling up for you," she added teasingly as Ron proceeded to tickle her neck in a way that had her laughing uncontrollably.

She finally managed to escape his dexterous fingers and to stop laughing. She was trying to put the red dress on when they heard voices coming from the stairway leading to the room.

"I'm telling you, they're probably shagging like there's no tomorrow," came George's voice.

"And? How's that different from what you wanted to do five minutes ago?" Angelina countered.

"There's still time," George replied smugly and with what Ron expected was a waggle of his brows.

"Later," Angelina replied in a very low voice. "And I promise I'll make it worthwhile," she added flirtingly. "But for now, your mother has asked us to find Ron and Hermione, who have, it seems, mysteriously disappeared."

"Nothing mysterious, I'm telling you," George insisted before a a heavy silence fell, one Ron imagined was filled with Angelina's look of reprobation and George's look of pseudo-shame he had spent years perfecting to avoid his mother's sharp ire. It lasted just five seconds before the two burst out laughing, a sound that was becoming familiar again but that Ron had feared had been lost forever two years ago.

Ron saw that Hermione had listened too whilst she had been putting that extraordinary dress back on. They looked at each other and exchanged a quick look that was enough to communicate what to do next. And as George and Angelina's steps grew close enough for them to knock on the door, Hermione took Ron's hand and they Disapparated to a quiet corner of the garden.

* * *

><p>It was a perfect early July day, warm and sunny, a perfect day for a wedding. As Ron and Hermione made their way to the heart of the festivities, her head resting on the crook of his neck, and her hand entwined with his, he noticed that the dancing was going strong. He estimated they had been gone for only thirty minutes and that nobody besides his mother would have missed them or noticed their absence.<p>

They got on the dance floor just as the Weird Sisters -there were some advantages to being Harry Potter- were just finishing a lively number. Ginny and Harry were in the middle of the floor, their dancing completely off key with the music, as if there were dancing to a music only the two of them could hear. Happiness was too weak a word to describe what these two might feel. And Ron couldn't help the smile that grew on his face. Hermione, next to him, was also staring at the newlywed and he saw her reach to her cheek to wipe a wayward tear, one of joy, he knew.

"Soon, it'll be us," he whispered into her ear.

"If we ever set a date," she said sheepishly.

They had been engaged for almost nine months and had yet to set a date for their wedding . Neither seemed to be in a hurry, Ron not being one for organization and she caught between the preparations for Ginny's wedding and the demands of the Elf Centre.  
>The Centre was now running well, even if fewer than twenty elves had passed through its walls. Still, Hermione was proud of the fact that all of them had managed to find gainful employment after that and that the families they had gone to work for had been personally vetted and were paying the elves decent wages.<p>

Her project of law to make all elves free creatures was in its final draft and she was supposed to give a presentation to the Wizengamot for their approval the following month. If the law passed, she would consider it one of the greatest achievements of her life. It would then be worth the long hours spent perusing old and grimy books. Of course, she had had time each time Ron had gone all over England and a few times to Wales to hunt the garden variety of criminal wizards. His job was dangerous, although less than chasing Voldemort had been as he loved to remind her, and it often took him away on overnight assignments, rendering their time together both rarer and more precious.  
>Saying their life was a bit chaotic at the moment was an understatement but she enjoyed every minute of it. And there was the very tangible benefit of mind-blowing sex when they found each other again after some time apart, she thought with a satisfied smile.<p>

The music had stopped and they heard the familiar voice of Molly Weasley.

"Ah, here you are, you two. I've been looking all over for you."

Despite her reproach, the Weasley matriarch seemed to be in an excellent mood.

"It'll be you two soon," she smiled as she took one of their hands in each of hers. "Kingsley was looking for you, Hermione. He's over there talking with Andromeda," she added while pointing towards where Kingsley and Andromeda sat, deep in conversation.

"Not sure what Kingsley wants to talk about but we'll go and see him."

"Perfect," Molly exclaimed before reaching for her wand and quickly pointing it at Hermione's hair. "Sorry, Dear, your bun is falling apart," she explained as she swished and murmured a quick spell that put Hermione's hair back in the sleek bun. "Here, it's better. What did you do? Went for a little ride on Ron's broomstick?"

Ron spat out the drink he had been sipping on, his ears suddenly a violent crimson. Hermione gently tapped his back, shielding her own flushed face from Molly.

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," she said in a much higher voice than her usual one. "Ron, let's go and see Kingsley."

With an amused smile, Molly looked at them walking away toward the Minister of Magic as she muttered to herself:

"Broomstick ride, right!"

* * *

><p>"He keeps changing his hair colour, just like Dora did," Andromeda said with visible love for the toddler who was currently playing with Bill and Victoire.<p>

"He does look like her," Kingsley replied in his booming voice. "She was one of our brightest, Tonks."

"I miss her," Andromeda said as she fought to control the tears that threatened to fall. "If there wasn't Teddy around, I don't know how I would have survived without Dora and Ted."

He gently covered her hand with him and the kind gesture was all that was needed to convey his sympathy.

"Kingsley, Andromeda," Ron's voice interrupted the moment.

"Ron, Hermione, here you are at last. Nobody could find you for a while..." said the booming voice.

"Well, we had..." Ron started.

"Things to tend to," Hermione added with aplomb as Ron played with his bow tie nervously. "Andromeda, so good to see you again."

Since they had moved into their own flat, their interactions with Teddy's grandmother had decreased.

"How are you doing?"

In anybody else's mouth, the question might have been a rethorical conversation starter. In Hermione's, it was a sincere concern and Andromeda had to appreciate the kindness.

"I'm well, thank you. Teddy keeps me quite busy," she added with an affectionate smile that made her features brighten and the loathed resemblance to her late sister disappear.

"By the way, Castor says hello to you, Ron."

"Castor?" Ron asked perplexed.

"Greengrass," Hermione completed for him.

"Yes, sorry, I always call him Castor," Andromeda added with an amused smile. "You, Harry, and Neville left an impression on him. He's also thankful for what you did for the hospital."

"Well, Ron said suddenly uncomfortable with the praise, we did our job."

"And very well," Kingsley added with almost paternal pride.

"It seems Cissy's son still works for him," Andromeda added. "According to Castor, he's a talented potioneer although Castor still doesn't trust him fully."

"He wouldn't be the first not to trust the ferret," Ron mumbled. "And mostly for good reasons," he added remembering how Draco had sent the memory of his interaction with Meads but hadn't come forward in any other way.

"No doubt," Andromeda agreed. "He did learn from that snake after all. Can't say I miss the man, she added with thinly veiled contempt for her late brother in law.

"What about Narcissa?" Hermione suddenly asked, wondering how the older woman was adjusting to widowhood, nearly nine months after.

Andromeda scrutinised Hermione with interest. She had long suspected there was some untold history between her sister and Harry and his two beat friends. She was aware that Narcissa had indirectly saved Harry's life. She was also aware that Draco had been responsible for Ron's near fatal poisoning a few years back. But there was more, she was convinced of it. Something that had pushed her sister to ask for her assistance two years ago, something that had forced Narcissa to strike an unlikely alliance with Hermione to seed the Centre the latter was now running.

"I didn't know you had an interest in my sister's whereabouts, Hermione. But if you must know, Castor has told me she still comes once a week to visit his ward. It seems there's a little girl to whom she's taken. Narcissa has also had tea with me twice in the last few months."

"Has she?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Ron, I've known her longer than anyone else at this point. I think with Lucius gone, she's trying to revive old relationships. She isn't my best friend but she's still my sister."

"Hasn't she also taken over Malfoy Apothecaries?" Kingsley asked.

"Yes. Successfully so, it seems," Andromeda said. "Anyway, it's almost time for Teddy's nap. I should go and get him. It was nice talking with you," she added with a kind smile as she rose and walked towards where Teddy was laughing happily with little Victoire.

"Kingsley, Molly told me you wanted to speak with me," Hermione asked.

"Oh yes. I finally got rid of Hobbes as the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures yesterday. You know I didn't approve of the cavalier fashion in which he fired you."

"I know, Kingsley," she replied gratefully. "And I appreciate it but I don't want the fact that I'm friend of the Minister of Magic to be perceived as the reason why things happen."

"Well, it wasn't the reason I got rid of him. I had someone in law enforcement to follow up on some cases you had mentioned where Hobbes had not done his job. That was enough to dismiss him. I just wish I could have done it earlier so that justice could be served more equitably for all magical creatures," he added ruefully.

"There was much to be done," Hermione said kindly. "And there still is,' she added thinking of her law project. "And while Hobbes was a complete...

"Arse," Ron offered.  
>"Yes, that," Hermione concurred and had Kingsley laugh. "Yet, he didn't dab in dark magic. How clean would you say the entire ministry is those days?"<p>

"Well, we've worked hard these past two years but we still have a few pockets of people ready to subscribe to pure blood insanities or who can be bought for the right amount of galleons. But truth be told, I don't think we will ever fully get rid of all of them."

"I'm afraid you're correct," Hermione sighed.

"But that's not what I wanted to tell you. The direction of Department is now vacant and I need a replacement for Hobbes and I think you'd be the perfect candidate. So, this is what I wanted to offer you: heading the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I frankly can't think of a better person to do this."

Hermione was silent for a moment, absorbing what was proposed and the opportunity it would represent. Her proposal to the Wizengamot would also have more weight behind it. Yet, she thought she would still have to spend some time at the Elf Centre and handle a demanding new job and coordinate with Ron's unpredictable schedule. How much time would they have to spend together with such busy lives? She turned to Ron to gauge how he was taking the news and all she saw was undeniable pride and love.

"This is perfect for you," Hermione," he enthused.

And there was the smile she had fallen in love with what felt like a lifetime ago, when they had barely been children. Her decision was swiftly made.

"Kingsley, I'll be honoured to accept your offer," she graciously said.

"That's settled then," Kingsley announced in his deep voice as he rose. "I have found the new head for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

* * *

><p>It was a slow day: fewer potions to make which was fine by him. Elworth was also away and for the first time, he was trusted to be in charge of the potions for one day. He wasn't naive enough to ignore that Greengrass had some potent tracking charms on each of the ingredients used in the hospital. The downfall of Meads had resulted in many new measures, supposedly in the name of transparency. Truth was Greengrass had been caught off guard by Meads' arrest. Ah, the dangers of being benevolent. One thing he had at least learnt from his father.<p>

At the thought of his father, his fingers instinctively went to the pocket watch that had been Lucius' and that he now wore. It didn't even keep time properly (that was why he still had the elaborate wristwatch he had received for his seventeenth birthday) but the shape of the entwining twin snakes under his fingertips somehow soothed him.

He went on reading the paper, revulsion stirring in him as he saw the two page spread on Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley's wedding. And there were the pictures, radiating a silly happiness he found sickening. One caught his eyes, of Weasley and Granger. While they may not be as hideous as the ones he had sported at the Yule Ball, Weasley's dress robes screamed ordinary and did nothing for his too tall frame, Draco thought with a smirk. And then there was Granger in a dress befitting of a prostitute. He supposed this was a Muggle dress as no self-respecting witch would ever dress like this for a wedding. And the red of her dress matched the one he saw as he thought of her and as his fingers went to seek the soothing silver of the pocket watch. It had been nearly nine months but he hadn't forgotten she was responsible. He would find a way to make her pay for it. And he wouldn't use dark or illegal magic, as he had no desire to become a Squib. No, it would be just his brains, brains he knew to be more than adequate to figure our a way to make her pay, and pay dearly for his father's death. The belief made him breathe easier and as he used his hazel wand to silently set the paper ablaze, his resolve helped him find his calm back while he watched the dancing flames devour the evidence of his nemeses' happiness.

"That must have been some bad article," he heard a voice he had longed to hear for so many months. "Aguamenti!" she cast the spell with ease and neatly made the remnants of the burnt paper vanish.

"Astoria,"he greeted her in a voice that didn't disguise his surprise nor his pleasure at seeing her.

"Draco," she replied evenly. "Mum always says it's bad form setting things on fire. Of course, over the years, I've set a few things ablaze: ugly dresses, some curtains, and Daphne's bed once-that was an accident before you ask and she wasn't in it and she hated anyway. Mum thinks I'm mental and Papa, while more indulgent, thinks I should have my head examined for pyromaniac tendencies."

"Something to remember," he said softly before she burst into laughter. "Why are you here?"

"Quite the welcome! Well, I finally graduated from Hogwarts, with five NEWTS, mind you, and I will be working with Papa for the summer."

"Are you?"

"Yes. Is that surprising? After all, if I can use Papa's influence to get ahead, why shouldn't I?"

"I didn't say that," he replied slightly defensive. "I just thought potions wasn't your thing."

"It isn't," she acknowledged. "Although I'm quite good at it."

"No doubt."

"I will help Papa with his ward. More to help him promote his cause. If I can draw interest to it, then Papa can get more funding, which will attract positive attention to him and get him closer to find a permanent cure for lycanthropy."

"That's right, your master plan," he said in an easy tone, remembering what she had shared on the Centre opening night.

"What about you? Still working here?"

"I have to make a living, haven't I? Although your father could be more generous."

"Says the heir of one of the most profitable apothecary businesses."

"It's my mother's, really."

The defensive tone was back.

"Not yours. Why?"

She asked the question in her usual blunt fashion.

"I... It's neither here or now. Mother and I agreed it would be best for now."

"You are trying to get away from your name and make it on your own, aren't you?"

She had a knack to see through him like nobody else. While it should have annoyed him to no end, there was actually a comforting element to it. He could be himself with her and she didn't seem to mind.

"On something else, would you like to go to the Leaky for tea?"

Her abrupt change of topic forced him to focus on the request. She was asking to spend time with him, alone and likely in public.

"You want to be seen in public with me?"

"Is that a problem? Am I that embarrassing?"

"No," he defended himself again."It's just that I'm hardly company people seek," he answered truthfully.

"That's fine," she told him as she bent toward him and seized his hand. "I am not most people," she added before softly brushing her lips against his.

It was light, and could have passed for innocent if not for the fire he felt starting building in him. That's when it finally hit him: he was falling for her, falling badly, and there was nothing he could do about it.


	29. Sweet and Sour

**_A/N:_** _thank you to the faithful readers of this story and especially to those who take the time to review. We are getting toward the end of this story but there are still a few twists left. Ron and Hermione still need to get married and Draco still has a lot of progress to make to be a decent human being. Let's say in both cases, the road won't be without a few last hurdles._

_Without further ado..._

**_Disclaimer_**: _I must not tell lies... Harry Potter doesn't belong to me._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29: Sweet and sour<strong>

As the heavy door was locked with advanced enchantments, Miranda Bullard sighed heavily. She was but a junior reporter, a year out of Hogwarts and had been sent to do a report on the fallen Acario Meads, once an influential man and now a permanent resident of Azkaban after a short trial and swift verdict.  
>At least, Azkaban wasn't home anymore to the soul-sucking Dementors, which she had heard could make any trace of happiness just vanish at once. She still wouldn't call the wizarding jail a warm and fuzzy place. It remained a prison, shrouded in security and austerity.<p>

Yet, the trip had not been in vain. As he had promised, Acario had a lot of dirt on many people. How much was true and how much was an attempt for leniency from Meads was unclear. She just had a lot of following up to do, not the least of it with Draco Malfoy. She remembered the pale-faced young man, having spent her years at Hogwarts in the Slytherin house. Yet, she had never paid too much attention to him. She remembered the Malfoy trial, post war, and how, despite what seemed like an undeniable involvement with the Dark Lord's inner circle, the entire family had incredibly walked free, and most surprisingly of all, thanks to Harry Potter's testimony. And now Meads said that Malfoy had a lot of hidden skeletons in his closet. Of course, coming from the murderer of Lucius Malfoy, it was to be taken with a grain of salt but her vocation to become a reporter had always been fueled by her ability to get to the bottom of things, hadn't it? Maybe it was time to pay her old fellow Slytherin a visit.

* * *

><p>A day off was such a precious commodity. He knew it was only a short respite before he had to go back to track the mad man who seemed hell-bent on visiting every last corner of England and Wales, leaving a trail of death and torture behind him. This one was just a psychopath who targeted indiscriminately both pure bloods and Muggle born witches. And he, Ron had been pulled to work on this case along Higgins again but as a full partner this time, and without Neville and Harry. Neville was working another case where poison had been used again and Harry had taken some time off to go on a honeymoon on some Greek island, from where he had just returned two days ago. So it was just Higgins and Ron and one seriously sick bastard. But just like their last collaboration, this one entailed a lot of putting pieces together rather than just fierce dueling. Ron likened it to a chess game: understand your opponent's position and then set up your moves to trap him and win the game.<p>

In the meantime, he was to enjoy his day off. Unfortunately, despite his trying to persuade her otherwise, Hermione didn't have the day off and was at work, probably saving the world or perfecting her proposed project for house elf welfare. PHEW. He really had to tell her to rethink her acronyms, he thought affectionately. Yet, he would have supported her even with a TWAT acronym. Besides, even if he hadn't convinced her to stay all day, they had managed a very hot session this morning in the shower so the day wasn't bad at all.  
>He was relaxing to a game of Quidditch on the wireless when he heard his sister's voice from the Fireplace.<p>

"Ron? Are you decent?"

"Ginny?"

"All right, I s'pose you are so I'm coming in."

A few seconds later, Ginny was standing in the middle of Ron and Hermione's sitting room.

"I need to talk with you," she announced without further preamble.

"About?"

"Your wedding."

He had to laugh for a second at his sister's always direct approach before she glared at him and he knew she was serious.

"What about my wedding? Last I checked, we haven't set a date yet," he retorted.

"Precisely."

"We had to organize Harry's and your wedding first," Ron defended himself.

"In case you didn't notice, we did get married and are back from our honeymoon. It was lovely by the way. Hot and lovely."

"Hermione said that Greece gets really hot in July," Ron said as he remembered her comments on how she would have preferred either another month or another locale for her honeymoon.

"I wasn't talking about the weather," Ginny deadpanned as he grimaced. "But back to you, have you even bought her a ring yet?"

"No," he acknowledged sheepishly. "But I plan to," he quickly added. "Besides, she doesn't care about rings, really."

"Are you really that thick?" Ginny asked indignantly. "She didn't need a ring to accept your marriage proposal, because for some obscure reason, she does fancy you, a lot."

That got him to puff his chest in pride just before Ginny threw him a blow.

"But it's been almost ten months and you've done nothing else. Hermione already had to make all the first steps. Maybe it's time you did something, don't you think?"

"I proposed to her!" he retorted. "And I want to marry her."

"Then do it," she said exasperatedly.

He looked utterly defeated and she softened.

"Look, Ron, we all know how much you care for each other. Face it, soon it'll be Mum on your back if you don't get things moving."

He chuckled at that before saying:

"Strange, isn't it? We faced evil like Voldemort but we're still scared of Mum."

She chuckled in agreement.

"I have got the gold for the ring. Would you come with me to help me choose?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she replied petulantly. "Of course, I'll come with you. And you will set a date," she told him in a bossy tone that would have made Hermione proud. "Now, what game are you listening to?"

* * *

><p>Astoria had always loved her father's office: the rows of neatly organized books, the large and yet simple oak desk, the well-worn swiveling chair –something inspired by Muggles– that she had loved spinning on as a younger child. And there was the familiar smell of him, a mix of leather and polished wood, the lemon drops he so enjoyed, and of various potion ingredients. She knew he was more an administrator than a potion-maker these days, but the smell still lingered in his lair. She remembered the hours she had spent there when she had wanted to escape talks about dresses and other frilly matters she couldn't have cared less about. She had found escape in the thick volumes, delighting a lot more in reading about the ten uses of a the Healios potion than the ten spells to keep your clothes always perfectly laundered and pressed. She looked at the robes she was wearing, noticing a small hole in one of the sleeves and realised with a certain mirth she really had not retained anything about the ten spells.<p>

"Astoria, my Dear."

"Hello, Papa."

She embraced him warmly, realising she was now as tall as him, a fact that belied how safe she still felt with him nearby.

"So, you have news for me?" he asked midly, a reminder she had requested to see him that morning.

"Yes. I have a great idea and I want to run it by you."

Her enthusiasm was blatant and contagious. "Oh? Please do go on," he said with a warm voice He only reserved for his wife and daughters.

"You know that Hermione Granger had been named head of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

"Yes, I read it in the Prophet. She's quite young but seems to have accomplished things beyond her years. Besides, from what I know of Shacklebolt, I don't think he'd make an appointment like this lightly."

"She's brilliant, slightly annoying actually as Slughorn always thought of her as the next greatest witch of all times," Astoria said with a little resentment, "but you have to give it to her, she's clever."

"And well connected," Castor added and saw both excitement and frustration on his younger daughter's face.

"I was getting there..."

Castor laughed with delight at Astoria's eagerness.

"Sorry, love, I didn't want to interrupt. Carry on."

"Well, she's presenting a law project on elf welfare next week in front of the Wizengamot. She's also opened an elf Centre and according to Lavender, she has always felt passionate about the plight of werewolf victims."

"Lavender? You mean Miss Brown, our volunteer?"

"Yes. She was a dormmate of Granger's during their time at Hogwarts and knows her well."

"So what are you suggesting, Astoria?"

"I want to talk with Granger to work on another law project to help werewolf victims. Also, it would establish dedicated funding for your research."

Castor looked at his daughter with interest, quite proud of her line of thinking.

"It would certainly help if I didn't have to constantly find gold for my research. Although the hospital has been generous after I brought in the Malfoy donation," he added more as a thought spoken out loud. "This definitely has merit, Astoria. Do you think the Wizengamot will approve her law project? I don't know how good it'd be to work with her if her law project gets rejected straight out."

"There's a small risk," Astoria acknowledged. "Which is why I thought I would be the one working with her."

"This way, you also get the credit," her father remarked and saw her nod her head. "Thought like a true Slytherin," he added merrily. "Go for it. I know you'll make me proud. And having dedicated ministry funds for my research might help me focus more on it and less on fundraising. It would definitely be good. I already have Elsworth working with me on it and you know how talented she is. Maybe I could get... Well, no, it wouldn't be a good idea."

"Get what or who?" Astoria inquired, wondering whether her father was thinking of Draco.

"Who indeed," Castor muttered. "Malfoy is talented but I still don't trust him. And that includes with you," he added softly. "I have heard from credible sources that you two have been spotted together at the Leaky Cauldron many times."

"He's a friend," Astoria retorted.

"With friends like him, you won't need enemies. And from what I've heard, you're more than friends, aren't you?"

It was more a fact than a question.

"We are good friends."

"Astoria, my dear, I promised a long time ago I wouldn't meddle with your private life as your Mum does it for both of us. But I will state for the record I don't trust him and I want you to promise me to be careful."

"You just said yourself he's a talented potion-maker," she countered.

"He is," Castor acknowledged. "That doesn't make him a good man. He's troubled, Darling, even more so since his father was murdered. Each time I think he's improved, something happens that makes me reconsider. I want you to promise me to be careful. I know you're an intelligent girl."

"Woman," she corrected.

"You're only eighteen..." he started and had to stop as she glared at him. He had to appreciate that even though her eyes were exactly like his, the look in them was entirely borrowed from her mother. "You're an intelligent woman," he amended, "and I trust you can fend for yourself but I would hate seeing you get hurt."

"Papa, I'm not that naïve. I know who he is and I'm aware his past is a bit shady. There's more to him. Aren't you the one always saying people deserve second chances?"

He smiled as she recited some of the principles he had tried to inculcate in her. Yet, he had learnt a long time ago that it was better to let his youngest, somewhat strong-headed daughter make her own decisions as she could always deal with the consequences.

"Promise me to be careful."

"I will be, Papa," she told him as she kissed his cheek affectionately and as he thought of a thousand ways he would torment Draco Malfoy if the cad ever hurt his daughter.

* * *

><p>Draco had first been intrigued and then annoyed by the request from Miranda Bullard. She looked like a second-rate reporter and he wasn't sure what had prompted her interest in him. The fact she had chosen to meet in one of the seediest pubs off Knockturn Alley told him she had no desire to be seen with him. Well, that was a reciprocated feeling, he thought to himself as he took her in, vaguely remembering her as a girl in the same year as Astoria. Unlike Astoria, Bullard didn't stir anything in him, not even his basest instincts as she was described as plain looking at best. When she opened her mouth, the shrill and high-pitch voice reinforced his dislike of her.<p>

"Draco Malfoy, I have it from a good source that you've been involved in attempted murder and the trade of illegal poisons."

Well, he had to admire her gall if nothing else.

"And?" he asked nonchalantly.

"My source has actual proof," she added.

And Draco put two and two together: Meads had finally spoken to the press, probably a last ditch attempt to get revenge or leniency or both. It wasn't really a surprise, just a matter of time and Draco was ready.

"I had to do things I wasn't necessarily inclined to do. As you may know, the Dark Lord had established some kind of pied-a-terre in my family's manor. My late aunt was his first lieutenant and besides the fact she was half-mad, she was also an extremely talented witch. And I was under a lot of pressure: do this or your parents will die. Do that or you'll die a painful death. I was a victim, really."

He took his breath, surprised that what he was saying so far was actually the absolute truth.

"I think this story's the one that was painted during your trial after the war. Does that absolve you from what you've done?" Miranda asked pointedly.

He smiled easily.

"The fact that I've turned my life around and am now steadily employed in a reputable institution seems to indicate so. Also, my mother and I have given generously to many worthy causes."

"You mean you bought your way out... Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you. I believe in self-preservation as well."

It was her turn to smile. Maybe Draco had underestimated the girl.

"Are you suggesting this is an option here too?"

"No," she replied at once. "A scoop on you would be a huge stepping stone in my career."

"I see," he said thoughtfully as another idea sprang into his mind. "Here's a thought: I will give you my version of what happened. I'll also give you a scoop on someone your readers will enjoy more reading dirt about."

"I'm all ears," Miranda said, looking slightly unconvinced. "Who do you have dirt on? Harry Potter? The minister of magic?"

"No, but someone who knows both of them very well: Hermione Granger."  
>"The Muggle-born friend of Potter's? Isn't she working on some insane law project about freeing all elves?"<p>

"Yes, that Hermione Granger."

Miranda got closer to him and as she took a quill out of her satchel, she told him in a low yet secure voice:

"Tell me more..."

* * *

><p>He was all giddy as he came home. He had finally done it, found the perfect ring for her. It might have taken a little push-and some help- from Ginny but he had found a ring that was unique and he was sure of it, would suit her perfectly. He only had a drawing of it for now -the goldsmith had promised delivery within ten days and had sworn it was a highlight if his long career to make the ring for Hermione- but both Ginny and his mother had assured him it would be perfect, the latter after a shriek he was sure had caused permanent damage to his left ear drum.<p>

Ginny had insisted on visiting their mother after the trip to the jewellery shop. And while Molly had been happily surprised to see her two younger children pay her an impromptu visit, she had been positively giddy with excitement when she had seen the ring design. After two hours of lively conversation with his mother happier yet than he had seen her in the last two years and a tea with more scones than his stomach should have handled, he and Ginny were sent to their respective home with generous portions of minced meat pies and treacle tarts.

He put the package of good smelling food on the kitchen table, calling for Hermione. As she didn't answer, he surmised she was still at work, even though it was nearing six o'clock and she had promised she'd be home early to enjoy the evening with him. Of course, early could mean anything before eight these days. Well that left him with time to prepare a nice dinner for her, a task rendered easy by all the food his mum had sent along with him. He hummed and whistled happily as he magicked plates from the cupboards and started work. He had the table set when he heard Higgins' voice from the fireplace.

"Weasley?"

"Yeah?" Ron replied as he got closer to the fireplace and saw Higgins face.

"New victim. This one is still breathing although in poor shape. I'm in Manchester and I need you. I think he isn't far this time."

"On my way," Ron replied, automatically switching into Auror mode.  
>He took the time to leave a note for Hermione before swiftly Disapparating to Manchester.<p>

* * *

><p>It had been a long day but she was quite pleased with the progress she had made, she thought to herself as she yawned and stretched to shake the numb feeling in her legs. She had been sitting at her desk, feverishly reading, writing, erasing and rewriting her final draft for the last four hours. She hadn't noticed it was almost seven o'clock, so absorbed in her work she had been. But there was that familiar feeling that she had actually achieved something. Her law proposal was finally ready which gave her a full week to rehearse her presentation to the Wizengamot.<p>

She quickly packed her belongings, remembering that Ron was actually home for a rare day off, and finding herself quite eager to get reacquainted with his warm arms.

She had already enjoyed him that morning In a very steamy shower. The memory brought a pretty blush across her cheeks. But maybe because of prolonged exposure to Ron Weasley, she was becoming somewhat of a glutton herself and was looking for a repeat performance. It was after all becoming all too rare that the two of them could have a nice evening dinner together.  
>She was still humming when she Apparated to their humble flat, welcome by the aroma of delicious food.<p>

"Ron," she called as she put her satchel on the side table by the fireplace.

She kept walking looking for him, to the kitchen and smiled as she saw the table set up for two, complete with candles. As she spotted a little terrier made of light and hope dance on top of what looked like parchment, her good mood seemed to suddenly abandon her.

The terrier continued its little dance until she picked up the piece of parchment and recognised the unmistakable scribble that was Ron's handwriting.

_Love,_

_I had to go to Manchester. New lead. I hope to be back before the end of the night. Mum sent some food. Enjoy._

_Love you_

_Ron_

_PS: please leave me some of the trickle tart_.

A sad smile graced her face as she realized the nice evening she had anticipated to spend with him wasn't to be after all. One more time, she would spend the evening alone.

She forewent the appetizing meal and instead helped herself to a generous slice of trickle tart. Her parents would be horrified to see how much sugar she was able to ingest but Harry was right, Mrs Weasley's trickle tart was unparalleled. And it had become a weakness of hers.

She set the plate of dessert on her desk and took some heavy reams of parchment out of her satchel, along with a quill and an ink well.  
>Diligently, she went through her draft one more time, her quill striking mercilessly any word she found short of perfect, while she slowly ate the delicious tart and tried to ignore the tears that were coming down her cheeks.<p>

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_** w_ell, not everything is right in paradise. Demanding careers might be one hurdle more difficult than Voldemort and Lavender combined. How will they fare? What is Malfoy up to? Stay tuned... Only a few more chapters._


	30. The House Elf Law Project

_**A/N:** For those of you who thought I was dead, I can understand but it was just a case of real life being crazy busy and fanfiction writing having to take a back seat._

_Here's a little 'Last time on Crossing Paths' summary as it's been a long time: Hermione is now head of Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures AND she runs a House Elf Centre AND is working on law project to help house elves AND lives with Ron. Overachiever!_

_Ron became a full Auror AND is working on another psychopath case AND has bought a nice ring for Hermione (thanks to Ginny) to seal their 'engagement' but hasn't given the ring yet. Oh, and he spends a lot if time away on Auror missions which doesn't sit well with Hermione._

_And there's Draco who while he is getting better in his potion making job has not taken his father's death very well and is blaming Hermione for it and is quite set on revenge.  
>Anyway, here's an update at long last.<em>

_**Disclaimer**: despite Rowling's traitorous comments about Ron and Hermione, she still owns all of Harry Potter... And wrote everything perfectly the first time around_.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 30: the House Elf Law Project<strong>

Narcissa was deep in reading ledgers when she heard the light cough.

"I'll be with you in a second, Draco. Let me finish this," she added without looking at him.

It was odd to see his mother immersed so deeply in tending the books of the apothecaries. He had always known his father to do this. Unfortunately, there was no possibility of this happening again.

"There, all done," Narcissa announced as she put away the quill and closed the heavy leather-bound book.

Draco bent down to lightly kiss her cheek while she tenderly caressed his.

"How are you?" she asked him, pleasure of seeing him blatant on her pale face.

"I'm well, thank you. What about you, Mother? From the look of it, busy."

"Indeed. The Apothecaries need to be run and it is a challenging job."

He read between the lines: a job that could be his if he wanted it.

"From what I hear, one you're performing very well."

"I just brought a feminine touch. It's amazing how much more business you can get with flattery than with threat. I told your father this but he didn't listen," she said with undisguised affection for her late husband before adding much more somberly: "he never listened and look where that led him."

"You know he'd still be alive If not for Granger's deal."

She faced him and cupped his face in her graceful hands.

"Draco, you know it was Meads and your father's doing, don't you? He went to Meads to try to blackmail him."

He put his hands on her wrists and gently lowered them.

"Father would have won any duel with Meads if Granger hadn't turned him into a Squib."

She sighed deeply while serving him a cup of tea from the ornate silver teapot that was sitting in the table next to her. She offered him the delicate cup before saying:

"You need to let it go, Draco. Your father knew what could happen and he still went ahead."

He remained silent and she abandoned the topic, knowing there would be other times to convince him.

"I am organising a dinner with a few select clients of the Apothecaries."

"Oh?" he asked with mild interest.

"Next week and I would like for you to be present. It's important to me," she added as she seized his hand.

"All right," he agreed.

"Will you bring a guest?"

Draco had to smile at his mother's habit to use circuitous means to get to her ends.

"Why are you asking, Mother?"

"It's come to my attention that you are spending some time with Castor Greengrass's younger daughter."

"What if I am?"

"Are you in any way involved with her?"

"Mother, " he replied with slight exasperation. "We are friends, very good friends."

"This is good to hear. Only friends? My sources tell me there's more."

Draco sighed, not enjoying the quizzing on his private life.

"Draco, this would be a fantastic match for you. Her father has a lot of influence as you know, and she is a pureblood."

He was slightly amused by the last part. While this was another good point about Astoria, it was far from being why he was attracted to her or why he could spend hours talking and laughing with her, letting his guard down for once in his life. And he wasn't lying to his mother. While they had exchanged many kisses, there had been no heavy snogging and absolutely nothing more. He wanted more to happen but found himself more than inclined to wait for this to happen naturally.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

His time with Astoria was precious, like a secret garden where he could find refuge when he needed to and he didn't want to share. After all, he'd never had to share.

"Very well," Narcissa said softly in a tone that indicated she wasn't done with the topic. "I'll see you next Tuesday. The dinner is at six sharp."

* * *

><p>Ron sighed loudly, frustration evident as he punched the desk.<p>

"Dead?"

"Yes, she didn't survive the injuries the bastard inflicted on her and never woke up," Higgins said gloomily.

"Fuck," Ron swore softly. "So we're back to the beginning? No clue and a trail of dead bodies."

"Actually, no," Higgins said with a mirthless smile. "He did leave something at the scene."

"Really? Ron asked, suddenly intrigued. "What's that?"

"Higgins used his wand to move forward what looked like a small piece of fabric floating in an invisible bubble.

"The victim had this in her hand. She fought back."

"Perfect," Ron added with sarcasm as he took a closer look at what looked like a perfectly ordinary piece of black wooly fabric. "Only ninety percent of England must own some clothes made of similar fabric."

Higgins chuckled lightly before asking seriously:

"Everything all right, Weasley? You seem a bit tense lately."

Was it that obvious? Of course, he was tense. He had come back from Manchester in the wee hours of the morning, finding an empty bed and equally empty flat, with a terse note from Hermione, informing him she had gone to the Elf Centre early. In the two days since, they had barely seen each other, their schedule at odds it seemed. Part of him wasn't fooled, though. She had been avoiding him and truth be told, he was missing her, not to speak about her soft skin, wild hair, and round and pert breasts. It was hard but he managed to get his brain back on track by looking at Higgins. Higgins... That was it...

"Higgins, how long have you been married?"

Higgins let out a bark of laughter.

"That's what's on your mind. Not all blue skies on the home front, isn't it?"

Ron's silence and annoyed air were enough answer.

"My Fiona's been with me for close to thirty years. We met at Hogwarts. It took her a while to get used to being an Auror's wife. It's not for the faint of heart. Once, I got hurt and she came to see me at St Mungo's. She was eight month pregnant and dragged our older one along who was only two. A handful, our Jack. She swore she'd kill me if I gave her a fright like that again."

Ron tried to visualise the short and plump woman he had met once, who looked quite demure and grandmotherly, trying to threaten her husband and somehow he could picture it. He couldn't help the chuckle as he saw Higgins' wide smile.

"It's hard to be an Auror's wife," Higgins added seriously. "It takes a courageous person."

"Hermione is," Ron said softly.

"And there's all the uncertainty: the mad hours, the risk... It's hard to take. It takes someone truly special."

"She is special, always has been. She just hasn't... Well... Spoken to me much since I came back from Manchester."

Higgins let out another bark of laughter.

"Is that speaking or some other activity you're talking about, Weasley?"

The crimson shade creeping up Ron's cheeks and ears negated the need for a worded reply.

"That's just a woman thing. Soften her heart: flowers, sweets, whatever works for her and look really repentant for whatever she thinks you did to deserve the silent treatment... Don't worry, she'll come around," Higgins added reassuringly.

"If you say so," Ron said and had a hard time keeping the doubt out of his voice.

"I've seen the way the woman looks at you..." Higgins added softly and reassuringly before a small silence fell.

When Higgins judged Ron had had enough time to brood about things, he decided to get back on topic:

"To get back to this little piece of cloth, I went to Madam Malkin. The woman identified it as being part of a line of luxury cloaks she sold last winter. She only sold fifteen of them and has a record for each client.

"Which makes our job tedious but easier," Ron added with returned enthusiasm.

"Exactly. Let's start. The first one is a Jonathan Weltham in Yorkshire."

* * *

><p>Draco had to acknowledge his mother's skills as a hostess. Everything was sumptuous from the ornate silver and crystal to the refined food that was abundant. She was busy, making small talk with several men that seemed to be under the influence of both the delightful burgundy wine and his mother's smooth talk and bewitching smile. Well, he had to do the same, sans the bewitching smile, and convince the small group of thirty meticulously selected men. He didn't have to explain to them why business with Malfoy Apothecaries was beneficial to them, his mother was already performing that job to perfection, but influence their vote as they were all members of the Wizengamot.<p>

It would be difficult as many of them had been somewhat disgraced after the war and the rise to power of Shacklebolt. They were all trying to lie low so they could get back in the good graces of the Ministry. He started with the old wizard he had vague memories of having seen a few times before. Thankfully, his mother had done a meticulous job of preparing a card on each of the guests and Draco knew the old wizard was Archibald Wartmouth, an old friend of his late grandfather's, rather set in his ways and rarely seen in public.

"Mr Wartmouth," Draco said warmly as he extended his hand.

The old man didn't shake the offered hand and instead took Draco in from head to toe.

"You must be the grandson Of Abraxas."

"Ah, yes, I am. Draco Malfoy," Draco answered as he awkwardly took his hand down.

"Charmed," Wartmouth replied in a tone that indicated he was anything but. "Quite the dinner your mother is having. You have to congratulate the woman, though. She's managed to turn the Apothecaries around. I can see why Abraxas was fond of her. Although I don't understand that business with that preposterous Elf Centre last year."

Well, there was no need convincing Wartmouth, Draco thought. No doubt where his vote would go.

"Mr Wartmouth, my pleasure meeting you," Draco said more cheerfully. "If you'll excuse me, I see my mother is needing me."

The old fart obviously didn't miss his presence. The evening was still young and he still had twenty-nine people to convince.

* * *

><p>To say she hadn't slept well was an understatement. Poor and inadequate were more the words she had in mind regarding her sleep or lack thereof. Although if she were honest, she hadn't slept well for almost a week.<p>

As fatigue seemed to seep through her entire body, she opened her eyes blearily, facing the mismatched ones of Crookshank. The ginger cat seemed to have elected Ron's pillow as his new sleeping place. That had happened barely an hour ago, when Ron had received a message from Higgins that the suspect they had finally identified thanks to Madam Malkin's pristine records had shown up at his house, in a small Muggle village in Yorkshire.

Ron had sleepily kissed her before telling her he should be back in time for her big presentation. And that was the other reason she hadn't slept well. Today was the day she was defending her House Elf Law Project in front of the Wizengamot. Slowly, she sat, gently stroking her cat's head.

Crookshanks purred in appreciation but kept looking at her.

"Big day today," she told him. "Why are you looking at me that way?" she asked with a chuckle.

The cat just purred but kept staring in a way she had never seen him use in almost ten years with him, as if he was trying to tell her something. She just laughed at her cat's strange way and made her way out of bed, feeling slightly dizzy.

She prepared herself methodically, adding a few charms to the bun she had submitted her hair into so it would stay that way. Breakfast didn't look that appetising and almost downright revolting to her butterfly-filled stomach. As she sipped her tea slowly, she kept glancing toward the fireplace, wanting Ron to appear, to be here with her on this big day.

She was aware that despite his saying the contrary that morning, there was a chance he might not make it back to London in time to be at her presentation. She waited five more minutes than she should have and finally took her satchel and Apparated at the Ministry.

As she made her way toward the courtroom -ironically the same one where Umbridge had led her anti-Muggle campaign- she was relieved to see Harry waiting for her.

He gave her a tight hug before asking:

"How are you doing?"

"Given the circumstances, quite well I think."

She saw him laugh, visibly unimpressed by her lie.

"You'll be all right. You will get this law passed."

Just like Ron, Harry seemed to have unending supplies of blind faith in her abilities.

"That's where I met Umbrdige the first time," he told her. "When Fudge tried to get me expelled after the Patronus."

"That's where I met her last and I absolutely don't look forward to a reunion."

"Me neither," he reassured her with a smile. "Ginny, Neville, and Luna are also here. They didn't want to miss this."

The support of her friends meant a great deal to her but their presence only seemed to bring in sharper relief Ron's absence.

"This is where I leave you," he told her as they got to the door.

He kissed her cheek and took her hand before telling her:

"You'll be great."

She entered the anteroom and worked on taking deep breaths until she was called to the big hall where she would have to defend her law project. The room was vast and high-ceilinged and the public plenty and eager-looking. She recognised many familiar faces. The Weasleys were huddled together, all of them, even a heavily pregnant Fleur, but not the one she really wanted. She saw many of Dumbledore's Army old friends: Sean and Dean, Luna, Neville, Ernie, the Patil twins and even Lavender. And next to them, reminiscent of a bygone era, stood several Hogwarts staff: McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn.

And then there were the much less friendly faces, most of them sitting on the Wizengamot ranks. She knew her project was ambitious but it might take a miracle to convince some of them. And surprisingly, she saw Draco Malfoy and his mother sitting prominently. Narcissa Malfoy looked as cold as ever but Hermione didn't see the same open hostility in her as she had in many of the old wizards and witches in the Wizengamot. Draco, on the other hand, donned the same snigger he had reserved for his worst schemes when they had been in school. She didn't have time to dwell on him and the loathsome look he gave her when their eyes met. Instead, she thought of Dobby, Nelly, Winky and the other elves who had been treated so shabbily and the words came easily.

"We are here today because it is high time house elves got treated with respect and received the rights to which they are entitled."

* * *

><p>"Take the right side, I'll take the left one," Higgins told Ron. "It's his only way out."<p>

Ron knew, having helped place the anti-Disapparition charms. There had been something satisfying in tracking their suspect just because of a little piece of fabric his last victim had managed to tear from his robes. It had required a few days of investigation but they had pinpointed the suspect, Jonathan Weltham, and had set close surveillance, waiting patiently for him to show up at his house, which he had done that morning.

While Ron was happy they were about to catch the sick bastard, he wished they could do it faster as he looked for what seemed the fifteenth time in the hour at the watch his parents had given him for his seventeenth birthday. He was going to miss the beginning of Hermione's presentation in front of the Wizengamot.

"What's the bloke doing?" Ron asked with unmasked impatience. Should we go in?"

"I'll go, cover for me," Higgins told him before unlocking the door and making his way cautiously through the old house.

Ron followed him, being eerily reminded of Grimmauld Place prior to renovations as he fought a few cobwebs and avoided some more odd magical objects. The curse was swift and missed him by less than an inch but got him to move into full battle mode. Higgins, in front of him, was quick with his wand and managed a spell that caught Weltham and made him trip. Even on the ground, Weltham had retained his wand and Higgins disarming charm wasn't quick enough and Ron's shield charm too slow to fully protect the older Auror who fell unconscious go the ground, hit by a well aimed curse from Weltham.

For a second, Ron was transported almost two years back, to the battle and it wasn't Higgins lying on the ground but Fred, forever smiling. He quickly chased the grim image from his mind but the lapse was enough for Weltham to stand and bolt. Ron quickly checked Higgins's pulse and was happy to find a strong one. Stunned but otherwise unharmed.

He then gave chase. Weltham was short and somewhat pudgy and from the look of his huffing an puffing, not in great shape. It took less than a minute for Ron to catch up and lunge at him. Ron first seized Weltham's wand, which the other man fought tooth and nail over. Weltham actually fought with ferocity, blindly pulling hair, biting, kicking, and scratching. Ron straddled him, tried to immobilise the feisty Weltham with his wand, failed at that, and finally resorted to the much less dignified but more efficient method of punching to subdue Weltham.

He let out a breath of frustration. As he let go of the collar of Weltham who was now mostly unconscious and mumbling.

"Sick fuck," Ron spat at him before using his wand to properly restrain Weltham while telling him why he was under arrest.

Once he was sure Weltham wouldn't go anywhere, Ron went back to Higgins who was still lying where Weltham's curse had befallen him. Gently, Ron tried a Reviving Spell to resuscitate the Auror and was happy to see it succeed.

"Weasley? Did you get that bastard?" Higgins mumbled as he slowly sat up, while rubbing the area where his skull had hit the floor.

"He's in the other room, secured, and I have his wand," Ron replied before looking at his watch again. It had been an hour and he most likely had missed most of Hermione's presentation. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I hit my head," Higgins managed a smile. "Great job. You can go and see her."

"I can't leave you alone," Ron protested.

Higgins smiled gratefully.

"What about we transport Weltham back to Aurors Headquarters and you can leave me alone after that. I swear I'll behave."

It was Ron's turn to smile.

"Let's do this. Fast. I do want to see Hermione."

* * *

><p>She had failed. Why were they all standing and clapping? Only half of her law project had been passed. Certainly, granting freedom to House Elves was a great deal of progress but the payment of fair wages had been postponed, which meant elves would still go grossly underpaid or worse, still get unpaid for their services.<p>

She looked at the ocean of red hair, seeing pride in the family that was by all means but blood another one to her. Yet, despite intense seeking, she didn't find the Weasley she wanted to see the most, the one whose arms she craved. Ron hadn't made it back in time.

She closed her eyes as she felt fatigue come over her.

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

The booming voice of Kingsley was full of genuine concern, a clear indication that the exhaustion she felt was highly visible.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You made history, you know."

"The minimum wage part didn't get passed."

"Merely postponed, Hermione. You can present in a month. And I trust you'll get this passed as well."

She offered him a shy smile.

"Thank you, Kingsley."

"I also heard from Ron and Higgins," he added seeing that the young woman was still anxious. "I'm sorry his Auror duties kept him from today's presentation but they caught Weltham. Higgins got himself hit."

"Is he all right?" Hermione asked, concerned for the older Auror she had grown very fond of. "What about Ron?"

"Higgins'll be fine. I fear his wife'll be his greatest worry. She's a feisty one, Fiona. As for Ron, he's unharmed and should be here within moments."

The relief on her face was palpable and immediate. It morphed into a smile as she heard a familiar voice arguing with Kingsley's personal assistant about getting through to see Hermione. He had finally made it.

* * *

><p>Draco was positively scowling as he exited the Wizengamot courtroom. Granger had managed to get her stupid elf law project passed.<p>

"Why are you scowling, Draco? It's unbecoming," his mother chastised him.

"Granger managed to convince the Wizengamot that house elves aren't meant to be servants."

"Which is good," his mother told him, surprising him more than a little. She had never raised any objections to having a house elf around when Dobby had served them, nor had she objected to the sometimes shabby treatment the elf had received at the hand of his father.

"How is that?"

"Don't you see? We sponsored that Elf Centre of hers, didn't we? And she is starting a new trend. That only makes us look better."

"Ah!" Draco finally understood the motivations behind his mother's happiness and it had little to do with elves' well being or condition of servitude.

Actually neither did his disappointment. He really didn't care that much about house elves. Well, he never enjoyed seeing his father abuse Dobby but he had just looked somewhere else. No, his disappointment was grounded in Granger getting a public endorsement despite all his best efforts.

Well, the game wasn't over yet, was it? His eyes caught the two people huddled together in a quiet and dark corner of the Wizengamot courtroom, visible only from where Draco was standing, Miranda Bullard was talking to Hobbes, Granger's former boss. Bullard sensed Draco's eyes on her and addressed him a fleeting smile that did nothing for her plain features but instantaneously improved his mood.

No the game wasn't over and he definitely still had an ace up his sleeve.

* * *

><p>Bloody ministry. Why did it have to be so big, Ron mentally cursed as he ran through the corridors leading to the Wizengamot courtroom.<p>

As he saw the flow of people emanating from the massive doors, he swore loudly, gathering that Hermione's presentation was over. As he made his way through, he caught a few words from the indistinct conversations between the people leaving the courtroom. Historical, excellent turn from Granger, very persuasive. His smile grew as he had no doubt that Hermione had succeeded.

Propelled by pride, he quickened his pace and made it into the courtroom where his eyes almost immediately found her, engaged in a quiet conversation with Kingsley. He made a run for her when he was stopped in his tracks by an old and stern witch he knew as Kingsley's personal assistant and who was fiercer than a mother dragon with her egg when it came to guarding access to Kingsley.

He had to argue with the old witch until she finally recognised him as Arthur's son and let him through. Their argument, while it had been quiet, seemed to have made Hermione sense his presence. She looked in his direction until their eyes met across the distance of the room.

He couldn't help the grin that bloomed on his face but it was quickly replaced by confusion as Hermione's eyes went from warm to obviously angry. It took her little time to end her conversation with Kingsley before she began marching across the room with a purpose in her step that bode nothing good. As she reached him, she told him quietly:

"Let's go home."

There was a certain finality to her tone and he chose not to argue and walked with her toward one of the Floo points. Wordlessly, they traveled to their flat.

The minute they made it to the sitting room of the small but cosy flat, Ron knew Hermione was about to lash out at him. Deliberately, he spoke first:

"We got Weltham. He's in Azkaban. Bastard took a shot at Higgins. Higgins is all right," he quickly added.

"Kingsley told me," she said tersely.

"And it looked like your law passed."

"Part of it, yes."

"That's fantastic," he enthused reaching for her as she pulled away from him.

"The part about fair wages needs to be presented again next month."

"It's all right. You'll get this passed too."

She seemed to ignore his comment and finally went for the sting:

"You were not there."

It was simple, and the truth, he knew. He had not been there. He might have been busy pursuing and taking down a sick psychopath but it didn't change the fact he hadn't been there to provide support for her, to hold the promise he'd made to her.

"I wanted to be," he replied in what sounded like a defensive tone to his ears. "I had to take care of Weltham, especially after he injured Higgins. I came as soon as I could and well, you being you, you had already got the job done," he attempted humour.

"You weren't there," she repeated in a quiet, almost dejected voice, something that sounded so foreign to him. "You're never here," she added so quietly he wondered whether he had heard properly.

"Hermione," he pleaded. "You know it wasn't because I wanted to be away. I want to be with you."

She remained silent, looking on the verge of tears and he couldn't bear seeing her that way, almost listless. Out of habit or desperation, he couldn't tell, he decided to go on an offensive mode for an arguing Hermione was better than a teary one.

"You're not there much either," he remarked. "You're always working."

He was expecting to get a rise out of her but instead received a terse:

"I know."

Her voice had cracked and all his anger vanished at once. She looked miserable, exhausted, very unlike herself. He reached out to her, trying to envelop her in his arms but she withdrew from him again, turning to hide what he thought was tears. He was at an utter loss until she started speaking in a low but fast voice.

"It's odd, isn't it? We spent all these years fighting evil. We won and we should finally have time for each other but it looks like we're never done fighting, are we? You still fight evil wizards and I fight for creatures whose rights've long been ignored. It's just never over, is it? When do we have time for us when there's still so much to be done?"

She took a deep breath, trying her hardest to compose herself before she could face him again. She couldn't explain where this sudden feeling of melancholy was coming from. She just knew she wanted him, close to her and that she needed him now more than ever.

Slowly, and only after she was certain the deep calming breaths had done the trick, she revolved to face him. Her eyes were still shining from unshed tears but she held his gaze as she asked him in a voice where vulnerability had taken over bossiness:

"Hold me."

He didn't have to be told twice and just engulfed her in a tight embrace. And in the tight confine of his strong arms, she felt secure, far from all the battles she still knew there were to fight, just content and happy.

It was naturally that things evolved, that hugs gave way to kisses and hands slowly undressing, that comfort yielded to a fire they never seemed to be able to stifle, that they became one in the oldest act of love and magic there was. They fell asleep peacefully, warm, naked and entwined.

* * *

><p>It was three in the morning when she woke up, feeling quite queasy. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, taking care not to wake Ron who flapped on his back and mumbled something sounding like her name before going back to light snores.<p>

She smiled tenderly at his sleeping form and rose, gripping the sheets as she did so as dizziness overcame her. Blaming it on rising too fast. She quickly discounted the dizzy spell and made her way to the hallway leading to their tiny bathroom.

She had left her wand on her bedside table but didn't need it as she knew every corner of their little flat by heart, in light or darkness. She did swear a mild oath as she hit her bare toe on what she saw was one of Ron's boots. He had left them where he had removed them in typical Ron fashion.

That made her trip to the bathroom a dual one now as she had to also tend to her throbbing and quickly bruising toe. When she reached the tiny room, she opened the cupboard where they kept first aid ointments. She reached for the bottle to apply to her throbbing toe when a small box fell. Her box of unmentionable stuff, as Ron so eloquently called it, clearly uncomfortable with the subject of female cycles.

She applied the lotion to her aching toe, sighed with relief and started putting the items in the box when it hit her. She dropped the box on the floor again as she feverishly started counting on her fingers. This couldn't be. It just couldn't be. How could she have missed it? She was over three weeks late. It might be other reasons, stress, exhaustion from all the work she had put in. There had been many times when things had been irregular during their year on the run, after all. Yes, she rationalised, it had to be stress because there was no way she could be pregnant.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **Sorry it took so long to update. I have the last three chapters outlined now. Just need to write them and I will as I plan to take this story to its conclusion. Thank you to all of you who are sticking around and still reading this._


	31. To Tell or not to Tell

**_A/N_**:_ missed me? I know my sluggish pace is not optimal to update a chapter story, especially after leaving everyone hanging on a doozie last time. I have actually had this written for almost two months but haven't had found the time to focus and do the last reread before I publish and now here we are. Okay, enough of my pathetic excuses for my slow updating. Next chapter is below. Just want to send a heartfelt thank you to everyone who reads this story and a special one to rhmac12._

_**Disclaimer**: still not mine_...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 31: To Tell or not to Tell<strong>

"You all right?" Ron asked, his mouth still full of toast but his look one of worry.

"I'm fine," she lied. "Didn't sleep well, that's all."

"Oh? Was it me?"

"No, Ron. I think I may just be coming down with something."

"We can ask Mum. She has all kinds of potions for all kinds of cold and whatnot."

"I'll be all right," she replied with a smile, touched by his concern.

She had to go to the chemist today and get pregnancy tests. As embarrassing as it was to admit, she had never learnt how to properly use the charm that would serve the same function. And she wasn't ready to go and ask Ginny, let alone Mrs Weasley, about It. There would be too many questions. And she might still not be pregnant, she reasoned. That was why she wasn't telling anything to Ron for now.

"All right," he replied although he still seemed unconvinced. "I'll see you tonight," he added as he kissed her briefly and made his way to the fireplace.

She followed him soon after, Apparating to a Floo just a block shy of Muggle London, one where she knew she would find the chemist shop she needed.

* * *

><p>"Wouldn't it be better to use the lacewing flies instead?"<p>

Draco knew it would be. It would make the potion more potent and accelerate the healing of the patient.

"Good point, Malfoy," Ellsworth said absently before taking the ingredient from the cupboard and adding it to the brewing potion. "This one definitely needs something stronger."

He was surprised, to say the least: Ellsworth was agreeing with him.

"Don't be so surprised, Malfoy," she added as she took the look on his face. "You're actually good at potions. Now if you could curb your natural penchant for being a complete prat, you might even be someone I could enjoy working with."

"That's a compliment," he deadpanned.

"Yeah, I know, we Hufflepuff are always too nice and ready to make friends. Can't do much about that, can you?"

He had to laugh at her candor. And that was the first time he had ever laughed with her rather than at her. He was even inclined to admit that Ellsworth, besides all her insufferable friendly attitude, was actually a talented potioneer herself.

"By the way, Mr Greengrass wanted to see you," she added.

"Oh?"

"Yes, I met him on my way here and it totally slipped my mind but please do stop by his office when you can."

"What about, now?"

"Go for it. I've got the potion-brewing under control. I do know a few things about potions, you know."

He made his way to the end of the corridor where Castor's office sat. He had almost reached the door when he saw Astoria exiting the office. She walked toward him before stopping to talk.

"Going to see Papa, aren't you?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Don't worry," she added as she gently brushed his lips with hers. "He's in a really good mood."

She started walking away when he delicately seized her wrist.

"Wait. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? We can get a table at Circe's."

She smiled at him, happy to hear the invitation.

"It'd be my pleasure."

"All right. I'll meet you there at seven."

And before she could go away, he planted another kiss on her lips and left her standing there, slightly stunned.

His heart was still beating a bit faster than usual when he knocked on Castor's door.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy. I see you got my message. Come in, please."

Draco did as he was bidden and sat across the nicely polished desk.

"The reason I asked to see you is because I have an offer for you."

"Is that so?" Draco asked, surprise and haughtiness mixing in his voice.

"Trust me, this is entirely based on your potion abilities. I've now had time to observe that you truly are a talented potioneer with a flair for creative thinking. The hospital needs this kind of talent. I think it's time you moved to a more interesting role than mere potion-brewer. There is an opening for a chief-potioneer in the urgent care ward. I think it'd be a good fit for you. You'd be responsible for all the potion making in that area. There is never a dull moment in that ward. What say you?"

Draco remained silent as he had definitely not expected that offer. Working in urgent care meant odd hours and dealing with all kinds of wizards but it was also challenging and above all offered autonomy he had never been given. Still, this was a bit too good to be true.

"Any strings attached?"

"I'll still be watching you. One toe out of line and you're out. I don't have any concrete proof but I'm fairly convinced you knew more than you let out about Meads. I won't tolerate any more secrets. You're forewarned."

Nothing about Astoria, Draco mused. The man had to know and he seemed to be fine about it, which Draco welcomed as a good sign.

"All right, I'll take the offer."

"Remember, no second chance with that one, Malfoy."

"I heard the first time," Draco replied before adding a bit more gratefully: "Thank you."

"I'll prepare the contract. You'll start next week."

* * *

><p>Crumpled on the floor of the women's lavatories at the Oxford Street Marks and Spencer, Hermione looked at the five sticks in front of her, all sporting various plus signs or other indication that she was indeed pregnant. She had chosen the large Muggle store as she relished the anonymity it offered. However, staring at her little sticks in one of the deserted stalls, she ought to look positively pathetic, she mused.<p>

How did this happen? Well, she had a very good idea how it happened but couldn't fathom when. They were always very careful, between a potion she took every day and a charm they cast every time. And then she remembered Harry's wedding day. She had been working a lot in the previous days while Ron had been away. She might not have been so strict with the potion. And when they had made it to his old orange room for that spectacular rump, the champagne had lowered her usual attention to details and neither one of them had thought of the charm.

Well, she knew how and when now. And it didn't change the fact she didn't have a pregnancy in her plans for at least quite a few more years. It couldn't come at a more inopportune moment. She knew she could end it if she wanted to but somehow couldn't come to that decision.

And Ron, she would have to tell him. She knew that unlike her, he would be ecstatic at the prospect of welcoming a new life. How would they have time for a baby when they barely had time for each other? She'd have to find a way to break the news to him.

Get yourself together, she ordered herself. With one quick swish of her wand, she swiftly Vanished all evidence of her predicament. She took a few deep breaths and focused on her three D's as she Disapparated to land just outside the ministry entrance. Being pregnant didn't exempt her from her work duties.

* * *

><p>Astoria walked with purpose within the Ministry corridors. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was deeply buried in the bowels of the magical building but she found the entrance easily.<p>

"Hello," she greeted the young witch at the entrance. I'm here to see Hermione Granger. I'm Astoria Greengrass."

"You have an appointment?"

"No, I don't," Astoria acknowledged.

"Miss Granger only..."

"Please tell her I'm here to discuss a potential project involving Werewolves and that her friend Lavender Brown sent me."

At that moment, Hermione emerged from the office.

"Astoria Greengrass, isn't it?"

Astoria had the impression to be back in Hogwarts where Granger had been head girl.

"Yes."

"What can I do to help you?" Hermione asked in a tone that, to Astoria's surprise, was pleasant and genuine.

"I want to talk about werewolves and legislation."

"What kind of legislation?" Hermione enquired.

"Mostly give better protection to victims of werewolves, who might have been infected with lycanthropy."

"All right," Hermione said, thinking she could catch a break from staring at her draft of the house elf wage reform and just thinking about the fact she was pregnant.

She was also intrigued to see what Castor Greengrass's daughter might want to do about lycanthropy victims' plight. She invited Astoria in her office and asked her to sit.

"I know your father has laboured in favour of victims of lycanthropy for a number of years. I know he opposed the Umbridge legislation and that he has devoted his career to look for a permanent cure to lycanthropy."

"You're well informed," Astoria replied. "But I am here in my own name."

"Do you share your father's views?"

"You think that because I was in Slytherin I can't have any empathy for the plight of involuntary werevolves."

"Not at all," Hermione defended herself. "Just curious. You have to admit the house of Salazar Slytherin is not usually known for embracing causes such as werewolves. But please do go on."

Astoria wetted her lips. She had expected some resistance.

"I want to make sure more gold is allocated for the treatment of victims of lycanthropy. My father has treated many and with adequate Wolfsbane treatment, they can live a normal life."

"I agree," Hermione said remembering Remus with a pang. "However, they're still not embraced by the wizarding community as a whole. They still face discrimination."

"Which is where you come into play, Miss Granger. We also need a law that prevents discrimination."

Hermione took Astoria in, very surprised to hear what she had to say.

"You have an exceptional track record. What you did for House Elves was a major accomplishment," Astoria added. "I believe in getting the best person for the job and I think that's you."

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione finally asked.

"Trying to pass a law? Well, you said it yourself. Plenty of discrimantion to go around."

"Miss Greengrass, please, drop the pretence. While I can believe you actually care about victims of lycothranpy, what's in it for you?"

"A famous Muggle quote. All right, my name will be associated with it, which will ensure my collaboration with you as I don't like failure. It would also bring more gold for my father's research and would improve his prospects of finding a cure."

"I appreciate your honesty," Hermione replied. "And I believe your father, like a few other Slytherins, is an example of how ambition and self-preservation needn't be exclusive of compassion and caring for others. Can I believe you share these qualities?"

"I just told you upfront, didn't I?"

"True. But are you so sure about me being the right person?"

"I saw you at the Wizengamot, defending house elves. I'd say you are the perfect person."

"I didn't succeed in getting the fair wage part of my law project passed and I want to let you know this will be my priority."

"I am fine with that," Astoria said. "I'll start work on my end. We can meet again after you are done passing the fair wage part of your law."

"You are optimistic about the outcome of this," Hermione murmured in a bout of self-doubt.

"As I've said, I've seen you argue in front of the Wizengamot. And for what it's worth, I do think we need more reform after this horrible war."

"Very well. I'll see you in a month."

As Astoria Greengrass left her office, Hermione wondered about her and hoped her instinct was correct.

* * *

><p>He was nervous as they ate some of the finest food in London while Astoria seemed perfectly at ease. There had been some small talk but not the usual enjoyable banter. She just seemed lost in thoughts.<p>

"Is everything all right?" he asked her.

"What?" she asked, suddenly coming back to reality.

"Oh yes, everything is fine. Sorry. I guess I've not been fully there. This is delicious, by the way, a really good idea this restaurant. I think I've only been here once before. That was to celebrate Mum's birthday. Papa arranged it for her, you see. Speaking of Papa, what did he want with you?"

She had said all of it in a single stream, in her typical fashion, and he had to smile at the trait he now found endearing.

"Do you have time to breathe when you talk?" he asked.

"Do you have time to not be an insufferable prat?" she replied quid pro quo and had him laughing openly.

From anyone else, he wouldn't have tolerated any such familiarity but it was different from her. Everything was, for reasons he couldn't explain.

"Your father offered me a new job," he finally told her after he finished laughing, "and well, seeing the relationship is such a friendly and happy one, I said yes."

She turned serious, leaning back in her chair and taking him in.

"Papa thinks you haven't told the whole truth about many things and I happen to think the same. But we are somewhat alike, Papa and me. We tend to look at facts. Drives my mother mad. He thinks you also have potential. And I agree."

"So you are interested in my potion-making abilities," he asked before spearing a green bean on his fork.

"Not really, no. I'm doing well in this area for everyday potion use and I have no plan to become a potioneer."

"What is it, then?"

"I think that you just pretend a lot, Draco Malfoy. But somehow, you don't seem to do such when you're with me. And I think there are parts of the real you that I like. A lot."

He was now used to her bluntness but there were things she didn't know about him, things that would probably have her run in the other direction if she learnt of them. And that thought, the thought of her running from him, of not being in his life, that thought was somehow too painful to bear and left him hollow.

"You don't know all of me," he said in a low voice.

"Is that an invitation?" she replied flippantly.

"Make it one if you want."

She sat silent for a while, scrutinising him with these powerful blue eyes of hers. She waited for him to finish his plate before she signaled to the waiter who promptly appeared with the bill. She insisted on paying half and he started refusing until she cast him one of her intense looks and he thought better of it.

As he put her coat over her shoulders, he heard her:

"Take me to your place. It's about time I saw it, don't you think?"

* * *

><p>Their meal had been uncommonly silent and Ron couldn't help noticing Hermione looked somewhat preoccupied.<p>

As he started cutting a generous slice of treacle tart, compliment of his mother, he asked:

"Treacle tart?"

"No, thank you."

She wanted to say: "I'm pregnant" but the words didn't seem to want to form and escape her mouth. It had been that way since she had come home to a lively smell of food that should have whetted her appetite but instead had made her slightly nauseated.

Maybe she needed more time to reconcile herself with the idea of being pregnant before she told Ron. A day or two to get familiar with the idea, maybe time to go and see a Muggle doctor. She couldn't go and see a Healer at St Mungo's when she knew she risked being recognised whereas she was completely unknown in the Muggle world.

Yes, she would wait and vet it confirmed before she told him. Maybe the five tests had been incorrect after all. Maybe there was something that was causing a false positive.

"Are you all right, Love? You still look like you're not," he told her as he attacked the piece of tart with fervour.

"Just under the weather," she told him and was overcome by guilt and shame as she uttered the lie.

"How was your day?"

"Paperwork from the Weltham case. I also went to visit Higgins. He's well and sends his congratulations for your work. He'll be out tomorrow."

"Good to hear," she replied sincerely.

"And Harry and Ginny would like to have us for dinner next week."

"Excellent," she enthused. "What day?"

As they continued their mundane conversation, Ron was more and more convinced Hermione was not telling him something. He decided to let her be as she probably had something bothering her at work and would let him know when she was ready.

* * *

><p>"So this is your flat?"<p>

"My grandfather left it to me."

"Rather grand, for a flat that is."

He laughed lightly.

"A little smaller than the Manor but this one is all mine. Would you like some tea? Something stronger?"

"You are quite the host, aren't you?" she said teasingly as he helped her remove her cloak and neatly put it away on the back of a chair. "Any mead?"

"My mother would consider me a failure if I weren't a gracious host," he replied as he summoned a bottle of oak-matured mead and two glasses.

He poured one and passed it to her before helping himself.

"To your new job," she toasted.

They each took a sip before an uncomfortable silence grew between them. She finally put her glass on one of the tables, reached for his, which he surrendered without a fight, and wrapped her arms around his neck before pulling him into a kiss. This wasn't like the other ones they had shared, there was nothing tentative or chaste or innocent about it. It spoke of hunger and want, an all-consuming one.

She pushed him backward until they hit a comfortable armchair and he fell in it, finally breaking their intense lip lock. They didn't speak. She just joined him in the chair, straddling him, her skirt hiking up to her mid-thighs, the skin of which he longed to caress. She didn't give him time and started kissing him ravenously again and this time he responded, abandoning any pretence as he wanted her like he had never wanted before.

Their tongues engaged in an elaborate choreography as her small hands started unbuttoning his shirt, her long nails lightly raking against bare skin underneath the soft cotton of his shirt. And he finally dared reach under her jumper, finding her small but pert breasts all warm and eager for his touch.

She was now trying to remove his shirt off of him, undoing the silver cuff links that had once belonged to his father and pulling the sleeves off. As she reached for his left arm and her fingers lightly touched the spot, it was as if he had been doused with cold water.

His hand abruptly left her soft breast and went to delicately seize her wrist mid-move and held it away from his arm.

"Stop," he told her in a low voice that betrayed his internal struggle.

The words cost him as he really didn't want to stop. He had had other women before. Well, mostly prostitutes as he hadn't slept with anyone for more than personal gratification since Pansy. And even Pansy could have counted as personal gratification.

He had never warned the others but he had never cared about what they might think of him. Astoria, she was different. She looked at him, shock etched on her pretty face and a certain disappointment.

"You don't look like you want to stop, Draco Malfoy, and I certainly don't. Her lipstick, something he had not seen wear much before, was smeared, and her brown curls seemed out of order. Yes, she was correct. He didn't want to stop. But he had to tell her.

"I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're worried about. I've done this before. Have you?" she asked him.

"Yes," he replied slightly sharper than he wanted to.

"Then what is it?"

Slowly, he removed the sleeve from his shirt.

"I could've done that, you know."

"Shh," he whispered as he gently put his index finger against her soft lips. "I... I need to show you something."

And she saw it as he turned his forearm: the ugly mark, quite faint now, but still unmistakable. She wanted to touch it like it was an ugly scab that she could somehow take away.

"How?" she asked him and he was relieved to see she was not running away.

"I was sixteen. My family had fallen out of favour. It was more a punishment for my mother and my father. I think I bought in all the propaganda early on."

She looked at him with shock and horror.

"I had never known or heard otherwise," he defended himself. "I... I quickly realized it was a lot bigger than what I thought, that it wasn't what I wanted. But there wasn't any way out."

"Do you still feel the same? About what you grew up with?"

He looked at her and her piercing blue eyes. He thought for a moment, not sure he knew himself how he felt. He had joked with Ellsworth this morning and she was a Muggle-born. He would not do anything else than work with her but if it came to it no, he didn't feel the same he used to.

"No, I don't."

And that was the truth.

Her face relaxed with relief.

"What else should I know?"

"I...I've done bad things..."

"Be honest with me, Draco," she pleaded softly. "I'm not naive. I know what some Deatheaters did. Did you kill people?"

He shook his head vigorously. He had never killed.

"I tried to," he admitted. "And some almost died. I just wasn't given a choice."

"You were involved when all these incidents happened at Hogwarts, weren't you?"

He didn't need to speak. His downcast eyes were enough admission.

"Why?"

"I told you. I had no choice," he replied with a cracked voice as the guilt of all his past mistakes seemed to swell in him at once. "Either I did what I had to do or he would kill my parents and me."

"That's sick," she said with obvious disgust and he fell his blood freeze and didn't dare look at her again.

She gently caressed his cheek and her lips soon came to join her hand.

"We've all made mistakes," she whispered against his ear. "But there's always room for redemption."

A fleeting image of his conversation with Miranda Bullard and his plan for revenge against Granger crossed his mind but he quickly dismissed it as Astoria's lips came crashing against his again and he didn't try to stop her again.

As they slowly undressed and feasted on one another, as they brought each other to that delightful edge, there was no room for any other thought than Astoria.

* * *

><p>"So this is the ring?"<p>

Harry asked looking at the exquisite work.

"Yeah. I finally got it. There were a few delays.

"Ginny said it was almost a month ago you ordered it?"

"It was," Ron confirmed. "Then there was some issues with the jeweller getting the stones and he had to rework some of the design. What do you think?"

"Well, not my type, really," Harry joked.

"Sod off!"

"All right. It's unique, intricate and should please Hermione. Have you set a date yet?"

"Well, I was thinking something quick, late September. We have waited long enough after all."

"Congratulations!" Harry said as he patted Ron's back.

"Not done yet. I need her to agree. And she's been a bit off lately."

"Has she?"

"Yes, she was sick for a while but then she got better but she's just, I dunno... Off. I suppose it's all the stress from her work."

"I haven't noticed," Harry said nonplussed. "But I don't spend as much time with her as I used to," he added somewhat wistfully.

"Not moving back with you, mate," Ron grinned back. "Not while you're doing things I don't want to think about with my little sister."

"Well, she and I are married now," Harry answered with a big grin of his own. "Which brings me back to that ring. When are you going to give it to Hermione?"

"Well, tomorrow is her big day, another big day at least."

"That's right, she's presenting the minimum wage part of her law. I'll be there," Harry said.

"And so will I as I don't want to know what she'll do to me if I miss that one too. But I will give it to her when we celebrate her success."

* * *

><p>She should have put the last touch to her speech scheduled the next day. Instead, she was waiting nervously in the nondescript anteroom of a gynecological office, waiting to see again the doctor she had seen the previous week.<p>

"Mary Peterson?"

Hermione had even thought of giving a fake name. She walked inside the office and saw the middle-aged man grin at her.

"Good news, Mrs Peterson. You are indeed pregnant, nine weeks along it looks like."

Her throat constricted as the evidence she had tried to deny to herself this last month was staring at her from a sheet of paper filled with numbers.

"Congratulations!" the doctor added with giddiness.

She managed to murmur a thank you as her brain went into full panic mode. She was pregnant. There was no more denying the evidence or keeping this from Ron. She hadn't resolved yet to tell him and she knew he was suspecting something was amiss with her. She had managed to keep the nausea in check thanks to a quick silent spell. Although for the past few days, she had felt a lot less nauseated.

As she made her way out of the Muggle doctor office, she just took a walk in the streets of London, completely oblivious to the warm breeze and the sunny summer sky as she couldn't hold the tears in check anymore. She was pregnant. With the child of the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She knew he'd be ecstatic and would make an excellent father. Why was she so despondent?

As she walked through a small park, she finally made the decision she had been postponing for three weeks. She dried her tears with the back of her sleeve and discreetly used a nonverbal spell to erase all signs of her weeping. She would tell Ron tomorrow, after the presentation and they would be able to deal with it. It might not have been part of her plans to have a child so early in life but Ron would be there. After all, a baby had to be easier than Voldemort. They could do this. She could do this and she would.

And for the first time in three weeks, she felt like a heavy weight had been lifted.

* * *

><p>Astoria was awoken by a sharp kick. That and the fact that it likely was the middle of the night soured her mood. She reached for her wand and lit the tip, ready to tell Draco Malfoy he could go and sleep on that green sofa of his when she saw he wasn't awake next to her.<p>

Instead, he was thrashing, and his face looked contorted in both pain and fear, obviously in the middle of a nightmare. She had spent almost every night in his bed for the last three weeks but had never seen him having a nightmare. He had mentioned the more sordid parts of his past and she wouldn't be surprised that it came to haunt him every now and then.

She forgot her bad mood and gently tried to wake him up.

"Draco," she whispered. "Wake up, just a bad dream."

His eyes opened at once and, with a speed unnatural for a man just woken from sleep, he reached for his wand and pointed it at her. She didn't flinch and very calmly told him:

"Could you please lower your wand?"

It took half a second but he realised what he had done, realised it had all been a dream, a very bad dream. Astoria was alive and not being tortured or offered to that vile snake or worse, Greyback. He had been transported back to the day Potter and his friends had been brought back to the Manor. Except it hadn't been Granger being tortured but Astoria. And he had watched, helpless, impeded by his own cowardice.

He slowly lowered his wand and she just held his gaze with those piercing blue eyes of hers.

"What happened?"

"I had a nightmare."

"I can see that. But what happened before? You didn't tell me everything , did you?"

There was no accusation, just a statement, and a true one at that.

"Draco, I can deal with what happened to you and what you've done in the past. But I need you to be honest."

He didn't know why he made the decision but he just started talking.

"During the Easter holiday, just before the Battle, I was home at the Manor when Potter, Weasley, and Granger were brought to the Manor by some snatchers."

And he started spinning the grim tale, telling her of his horror and helplessness, the punishment his father and aunt had received because of their failure, the constant fear the Dark Lord would find a new creative way to destroy them slowly and painfully. She digested the news and he had to give her kudos for her strength in taking this all in without talking or running away.

Tenderly, she brushed some of his fringe away from his eyes.

"Honestly, I don't know what I would have done if I had been in your place."

There was no judgment or pity, just a statement.

"This never came out when Potter and his friends told their story," she noticed. "And Potter did defend your family during the inquest from the Wizengamot."

"You remember that?" he asked her.

"Yes, Papa told me about it. He didn't think much of your family, especially not your father. I think his opinion of your mother has evolved with her work at the ward."

"And me?"

She laughed lightly.

"I'm not so sure."

There was a brief silence.

"So why did Potter help you? He seems to be very close to Granger."

He had to admire her perspicacity. After all, he had only shared this story with one other person, omitting some details and that other person had needed some pointers to connect the dots.

"We made a deal with them."

And he went on explaining the decision that had so profoundly changed his life, finally lifting a weight he hadn't known he had been carrying.

"I see," she finally said. "This explains an awful lot. It was never your decision to work with Papa."

"It became my decision in the end. I... I do enjoy what I am doing there. And I got the chance to get to know you."

"Draco, be honest with me, please. Is there anything else I should know? I know you can't change the past but I need to know."

"No," he said as he made his mind to talk with Bullard again and not to burden Astoria with more.

"All right. Well, I need to work tomorrow so can we go back to sleep?" she asked with a big yawn.

How she could sleep after such revelations was beyond him but he didn't argue and just turned off his wand before gladly accepting the comfort of her arms.

* * *

><p>Hermione was up early and humming as she prepared breakfast, a distraction, he knew, from the anxiety she felt before her presentation. He came behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, planting a solid kiss on her neck and eliciting a very un-Hermione like giggle.<p>

"Ron," she admonished him in a laugh.

It was good seeing her laugh again. He didn't know what had happened but she had seemed more like herself yesterday evening. He had figured out that whatever had bothered her must have been resolved and that was enough for him. He then thought of the ring that was in his robe pockets. He finally could give it to her today.

She set a cup of hot tea and some toasts in front of him when the Prophet owl showed at the window. Hermione rose to get the newspaper and gave the few Sickles to the owl.

The minute she opened the paper, Ron knew there was something wrong as she blanched and looked as if unable to move.

"Hermione?"

She didn't move, just stretched her arm out to give him the paper. He quickly seized it and looked at the bold title above the fold:

_Is Hermione Granger Sane?_

_Exclusive report: wartime heroine was tortured at length. Close sources reveal she may not have fully recovered._


	32. Win and Losses

_**A/N:** okay, I was much faster publishing this. This is the penultimate chapter. Lots happening._

_Thank you for everyone who still follows this story after all the time. A special thanks to those who take the time to review._

_Without further ado._

_**Disclaimer:** same old... Not mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 32: Win and Losses<strong>

He had given up after an hour. Despite the warmth and comfort of Astoria's arms, he hadn't managed to go back to sleep. Instead, he had got up and made himself a cup of strong tea and had started perusing again his grandfather's potion books.

There was a familiarity and comfort he couldn't help even if he still cringed at some of the comments Abraxas had left in the margins of some potions, clear evidence of his grandfather's sentiments when it came to half-blood wizards and Muggle-born ones.

He was sifting through a rather complex potion when he heard the tap on the window. He took a swift look at the clock in his living room and swore at the bird as it was only half past five.

The owl came in and extended its leg to present a note and a rolled copy of a newspaper.

Still unsure, Draco opened the note first.

_Mr Malfoy,_

_It was a delight working with you. I want to thank you for the recommendation of talking with Alan Hobbes. Between his story and what you told me, I wrote a classic article for the Prophet -and now have a full time offer from them. I think you might enjoy an advance copy._

_Best regards,_

_Miranda Bullard_

He took a look at the headline and didn't know how to react. Part of him wanted to cheer out of sheer vindication. He had finally got his revenge over the insufferable know-it-all: her career was now over. Another part, with a soft voice growing louder by the minute, was telling him it was a mistake. Instead of the jubilation he should have felt, akin to the satisfaction he had experienced when he had turned Granger into a half-beaver back in fourth year, he was overcome with unease and repulsion, the same way he had when he had seen her lying on the stone floor, being relentlessly tortured by his deranged aunt.

The image from his nightmare of the previous night came back to him. Not Granger on the floor, but Astoria. It was as if all blood stopped flowing inside him. Astoria. He hadn't told her about his little chat with Miranda Bullard. He hadn't because he had intended to ask Bullard to hold on. It was too late now and the story was out. How would Astoria react? He had told her everything that had happened at the Manor. She would put two and two together.

He seemed to be paralysed, unsure what to do when he heard the knock on his front door and his mother's cold and clear voice.

"Draco, open at once."

Mechanically, he obeyed and went to open the door for his mother. He didn't remember having ever seen her looking so furious or maybe she had just sheltered him like she had from other things. She radiated a barely contained rage, her refined features oddly set in tight lines.

He realised she was holding a newspaper when she shoved it at him and asked through gritted teeth:

"What is this, Draco?"

"The Daily Prophet," he replied feeling his own rage starting to boil.

"Don't you dare," she cautioned him. "Why did you talk to that Miranda Bullard?"

"My name is in the article?" he suddenly worried.

"No, but it didn't take a genius to figure out who told the story when the manor is mentioned. Why, Draco? Why? I spent the last two years rebuilding our name and status. We finally have everything back together and you throw it away. And for what?"

"Everything together?" he lashed back. "Did you forget about Father?"

Her face softened a bit.

"Is this what it is about? Did you try to ruin Granger's name –and my efforts in the process– to avenge your father?"

His lack of response was enough confirmation.

"You are so like him," she told him in a low and tired voice. "Never seeing farther than your own needs and wants, not caring about others. Your father died because of it."

"He went to Meads because of what Meads had done to you!" Draco bellowed.

"Did he, now? Do you think he went for my sake or because I was his wife and he wouldn't have any other man treat so shabbily what he considered his?"

She sat down, looking older all of a sudden.

"I loved your father, Draco, and I believe he loved me too, in his own way, but he loved himself more. He was reckless and that's what killed him in the end. And you are taking the same path, wasting all our work of the past two years for a shot at having your revenge on Granger. How do you think it's going to look? Did you take the time to think?"

"Is that the way you see it? Only worried about how it looks for our name. Don't you care about what Granger did?"

"We had a deal with her. A deal that kept us out of Azkaban and has helped us rebuild our name."

"She's responsible for Father's death!" he cried out.

"No, Draco. He was. And what will marring her name bring to you? Revenge? At the price of everything we've rebuilt? A large price to pay, don't you think?"

He looked at her mutinously, not unlike his younger self.

"I thought you had grown up, Draco, but you really haven't. Pay attention or you may risk losing everything," she said dejectedly before rising.

She was at the door when the sleepy voice rose.

"Draco, what's all this noise?"

Astoria was standing in the door of his room, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and a sleepy look. Narcissa looked from the semi-clad young woman to her son, not missing the spark in Draco's eyes as they lay upon Astoria.

"Good morning, Mrs Malfoy," Astoria added in a yawn as she recognised Narcissa.

"Miss Greengrass," Narcissa replied curtly. "I was on my way out. You may want to cover up. This old flat can get draughty."

She turned to Draco and for his ears only told him:

"Everything, you risk losing everything, including her. Good bye."

She kissed him perfunctorily on the cheek and just Disapparated noiselessly.

* * *

><p>Ron took the newspaper from Hermione and started reading the first few lines. The more he read, the harder the lines on his face became until barely suppressed anger seemed to ooze through every pore of him.<p>

"Bastards! Fucking bastards."

"Everything is out, isn't it?" Hermione asked.

His rage somehow seemed to make her calmer.

"All of Malfoy Manor is in there," he told her. "What that bitch did to you. It says that..."

"That I've gone mad from the torture, like Neville's parents. Doesn't it?"

"Yes," he replied in a strangled voice. "Your former fucking boss also adds to the article."

"What did he have to lose?" Hermione said matter-of-fact.

"The ferret must have told everything...about what happened to you there."

"I have no doubt it's him."

"Bastard," Ron said through clenched teeth as he slapped the table with the palm of his hand, trying unsuccessfully to release the wrath that boiled in him.

"Ron," her voice was shaky. "Let's not pay any attention to that mountain of lies. It's like Rita Skeeter all over again."

"Is it? There was no truth to what that cow was writing but that's not the case here, is it? All of Malfoy Manor is there. And that happened!"

His anger was palpable.

"I know. I was there."

He winced and his ire suddenly vanished as her ashen face grew incredibly paler.

"'m sorry, Love. That's not what I meant."

"I know," she reassured him, covering his large hand with her much smaller one.

All the things she had tried to keep private were now exposed all over the wizarding world. Secrets always had a way to make themselves known, she mused. And she had a lot of things she had kept secret. She couldn't wait. She had to tell him about the baby.

"Ron. I...I'm..."

She didn't have time to finish as Harry's voice came from the fireplace.

"Ron, Hermione, have you seen the Prophet?"

"Harry!" Ron greeted him. "Yeah, we did."

"How are you doing?" Harry asked turning his gaze toward Hermione who had come by the fireplace too.

She knew it was pure concern coming from Harry, concern about how she was taking the fact that her deepest and darkest secrets were now splayed in the pages of the Prophet. Yet, she couldn't help thinking that there was a trace of pity. She couldn't take pity, she thought as her stomach twisted in anxious pain. She'd have to show everyone that she was strong enough to deal with this.

"I'm all right, Harry," she told him with resolve. "I'm still going to present today and you know what, this will get passed and they will see if I am insane."

Ron was surprised by her abrupt change of demeanour but welcome it as it meant feisty Hermione was back. He knew from experience she was one better not to cross.

"That's my girl," he murmured for himself.

"I'll see you there," Harry said before his head disappeared from the hearth.

* * *

><p>"What was that all about? Does your mum pop up often at half five?" Astoria asked in a yawn as she greedily drank from the cup of tea he had left out.<p>

"Sit down, please," he asked her. "I need to show you something."

"I think I saw all there was to see, already," she joked as her eyes narrowed above the edge of the cup.

He had made his decision. He hadn't had time to talk with Bullard before the article got out so now he had to tell Astoria first. He knew she was working with Granger on something.

"There's an article in the Prophet..."

"Is there? Amazing! In a newspaper."

"It's about Granger."

She didn't let him finish and grabbed the newspaper he was still holding as she quickly read.

"It's..."

"Shush," she silenced him. "I'm reading."

And the more she read, the more the mischievous air left her face and was replaced by a somber one. When she reached the end, she looked at him:

"I knew Hobbes was a complete arsehole. Papa says so. But the rest, it's from you, isn't it? I don't see Granger or Potter going on about this and the other people knowing are you and your mum. Somehow, I don't believe your Mum talked. That leaves us with you."

He didn't deny it because it was the truth, plain and simple.

"I was going to talk with Bullard. Ask her to drop it."

"When were you going to do that, Draco?"

"Today. I guess I'm too late."

"Would you have told me if you had managed to stop Bullard?"

She looked at him with her piercing blue eyes, drilling into him in a fashion very similar to that of her father.

"No, you wouldn't have," she answered for him.

"Astoria," he defended himself. "I would have."

"No, you wouldn't have. You knew I was working with Granger. Yet, you let this happen and didn't think it necessary to tell me, not even when I know everything else and asked you about more skeletons in your closet. I need honesty, Draco..."

Her tone was one of upper disappointment and hurt.

"Papa was right," she added wistfully. "You aren't to be trusted."

She rose and walked to his bedroom where she started unbuttoning the shirt she was wearing -his- and let it drop on the floor until she stood naked. For a mad moment, he thought she was going to shag him but her intentions quickly became clear as she grabbed her clothes and began hastily dressing. She picked up her hand bag and stood in front of him. She was much shorter than him but the intensity coming from her had him slightly scared.

"I think it'd be better if we didn't see each other anymore," she told him without flinching.

It was as if his universe had gone into a spiral and nothing made sense anymore. He had told her the truth. He might have done so out of obligation but so what? He had told her about the worst parts of his past and this was nothing in comparison. He had been forthright with her. He had done what was supposed to be the right thing and she was still breaking up with him. She couldn't do that. Didn't she know she was the best thing that had ever happened to him?

"Astoria, you can't mean that..." he started, suddenly remembering how warm and welcoming her embrace had been the previous night when he had woken from a nightmare.

"I do," she replied as she gently brushed her lips against his. "Good bye," she told him before she Disapparated back to her own flat.

The moment she landed in her sitting room, she couldn't hold the tears anymore and let them fall.

* * *

><p>There were hundreds of eyes on her. She couldn't tell which one were sympathetic and which ones were mocking, their owners convinced of her madness. She couldn't pay them any attention but had to focus on house elves instead.<p>

She had presented a brilliant argument, bolstered by the need to prove herself. Now was the time for the members of the Wizengamot to ask questions. Kingsley opened the floor. The first one to speak was an old wizard that Hermione recognised as Archibald Wartmouth.

"Miss Grainer,"

"Granger, Sir," Hermione corrected him as she felt a sudden pain in her abdomen.

He looked irritated and ignored her correction.

"How can a Mudblood like you..."

He was promptly interrupted by Kingsley's gavel and booming voice:

"Mr Wartmouth. This kind of language is inappropriate in this court and in general. Its use might be ground for dismissal from the Wizengamot."

"No matter," Wartmouth pursued, his eyes shining with malice, "how can someone not born in our world pretend to know what's best, especially when that person's sanity is questionable."

There was a vague murmur in the audience. Hermione wetted her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, and ignoring the dull pain in her belly, started talking again:

"You are correct, I wasn't born in the wizarding world. Yet, I fought for this world to overcome the most evil wizard it had ever known. I did it because this is where I belong. And I do understand what is happening to house elves. The pretence that they are willingly and happily serving wizards is a ludicrous one. They have just been viciously conditioned over centuries. But you know what? Not all of them are so docile and given the chance, some have willingly left the family they were serving."

She had to take a breath as the pain started getting more acute.

"As for your other question, yes, I was tortured. The Cruciatus curse was used on me repeatedly. And I can guarantee that despite this, my sanity is intact. But most importantly, the reason I am alive is that an elf saved my life that day. Have you ever saved someone's life or be tortured, Mr Wartmouth?"

"That's preposterous!"

"It might be. I would hope for you that you never had or never will have to go through either. But don't judge on things you don't know anything about. Besides, wasn't an elf named Calvin formerly working -if we can call it that- for you?"

The pain was getting stronger but she had to focus on Wartmouth, whose mouth was currently agape like that of a fish.

"I think the fact your former house elf chose to come to my Centre the moment house elves were made free says a lot about your treatment of him. Now, you may have a chance to do something and approve that House Elves are paid a decent wage for their labour."

Applauses started slowly and then rose to a room of thunderous clapping. She took a deep breath and hoped nobody saw her wincing as she sat down.

From his bench, Ron leant close to Harry and told him:

"She needs help."

"Ron, she's perfectly capable..."

"No, Harry. She doesn't look all right. She just winced."

"She did?" Harry asked as he looked more carefully at Hermione. Kingsley was making liberal use of his gavel so he could get to a vote of the members of the Wizengamot.

The vote didn't take long, which suited Hermione as she was feeling worse by the second. She smiled wanly when she heard that her project was approved by a small margin but approved nonetheless. She had won: House Elves would now not only be independent creatures but would also have to be paid for their services.

She heard Kingsley declare the session adjourned and saw people coming towards her, probably to talk. She just didn't have the strength. It was with extreme relief that she saw Ron made his way towards her and, with Harry's help, shield her from the crowd.

"Hermione? Are you all right? Don't take this wrong but you look awful."

"Always one for compliments," she retorted to Ron. "I just want to go home."

And she finally could tell him about the baby since her attempt that morning had been cut short.

"Come with me," he told her as he held his hand out and made a path for her through the crowd and to the place they could Disapparate.

"Ron, I... I," she started as they landed in their sitting room. She wanted to sit, feeling weaker by the second, as Ron gave her a once over, visibly worried.

"Love, you've been unwell a lot lately and..."

He stopped mid-sentence and her eyes went where his had looked: at her feet where a large pool of blood was forming. She wanted to tell him before she passed out but never had time.

* * *

><p>Draco was on his third Firewhiskey, the burn seeming to worsen with each sip. Yet, it was better than everything else he was feeling: the hollowness, pain, regret. He had always learnt to conceal and compartmentalise but that was just too much at once.<p>

Astoria had left him. The best thing that had ever happened to him and he had wasted it, foolishly. The words of his mother about losing everything came back to haunt him. He was about to signal for another drink when he took a look at the grimy clock behind the bar. For now, he still had a job and it was time to start his shift.

* * *

><p>For a moment, sheer panic was all he could feel, being brought back a few years back, when he had lifted her bruised and bloodied body away to safety.<p>

"Hermione, Hermione, wake up."

She was out cold and incredibly pale but worse of all, the pool of blood was growing larger by the moment.

This realization gave him the sturdiness he needed and he just lifted her and, ignoring his suddenly misty eyes, Flooed to St Mungos.

* * *

><p>It was incredible how alcohol could numb you and yet you could still feel pain. Not the physical one, just the kind that made you feel empty. And somehow, there was no Firewhiskey potent enough to fill that void. He had made it to work, the last thing that might still be enjoyable in his life, and after a nice sobriety potion, was ready to face whatever the emergencies of the day would be. Draco wasn't ready though when the first emergency of his shift was Weasley holding an unconscious Granger in his arms.<p>

* * *

><p>The healer, a short middle-aged woman with her brown hair pulled into a tight bun, was there right away and had Hermione moved to a bed and quickly started working on her.<p>

"Mr Weasley, isn't it?"

Ron nodded.

"Take care of her, please," he pleaded.

"This is what I'm doing. I'm healer Martin," she quickly introduced herself. "Can you tell me what happened?" she asked kindly as she started checking Hermione with various instruments.

"She was weak after her presentation this morning."

"Ah yes, I just heard she got her law passed," the healer replied as she directed what looked like an inverted syphon towards Hermione's stomach.

"When we came home, she got pale and then... Then she collapsed... And there was blood... Everywhere."

That's when Draco walked in.

"What's he doing here?" Ron asked angrily.

He definitely didn't need to face Weasley and what looked like an unconscious and heavily bleeding Granger after his day so far. The thought was actually too scary to handle. So he went to usual coping mechanism and moved to cocky:

"I'm the head of potions for this service."

"He is," Healer Martin confirmed although her dislike for Draco was blatant.

Ron didn't pay any more mind to Draco, focusing back instead on Hermione as he asked the healer:

"What's wrong? Is she gonna be all right?"

"Well, she's hemorrhaeging badly which seems to..."

"Are you blind, stupid, or both, Weasley? She's having a miscarriage," Draco cut out bluntly.

There was something oddly comforting in reverting to his old familiar tactics. He just couldn't take a love-sick Weasley and bleeding Granger again, not when he was already drowning in his own despair.

"Mr Malfoy, please be quiet or I swear I'll make you quiet," Healer Martin said sternly.

She faced back to Ron:

"Unfortunately, Malfoy is correct. All her symptoms point to a miscarriage. I listened for a fetal heartbeat and there's none. I'm sorry, Mr Weasley."

"But... It can't be," Ron sputtered. "She isn't pregnant."

"I'm afraid she's not anymore but everything seems to indicate she was."

"Don't you know how that happened? Weasley?" Draco taunted again.

"Mr Malfoy, that's enough," Healer Martin admonished. "I need a restorative potion and one to stop the bleeding. Now."

"At your service," Draco said in a mock salute and went to his brewing room, happy for the distraction.

"I'll report him," the healer said more to herself. "Might be a talented potioneer but he's a complete twat."

"Hermione? Is she going to be all right?"

The healer looked at Ron very kindly and gently tapped the top of his hand with hers.

"If we can get the bleeding under control, she'll be all right. It may take her longer to get over the miscarriage."

"But..." he was at a loss for words. "How could she be pregnant?"

"Surely, Mr Weasley, you don't need me to explain how. I gather you didn't know," she added in a kinder tone.

"No," he answered dejectedly. "Is it possible she didn't know either?" he asked, trying to find the reason why Hermione might have kept such a thing from him.

"From my cursory analysis, it looks like she was just eight to ten weeks along. It might've been asymptomatic..."

He shook his head.

"No, she'd know," he said with certainty. "Hermione would know stuff like that."

"I'm sorry, Mr Weasley. You'll have to speak with her when she regains consciousness."

She briefly looked at her watch.

"Malfoy should be back with the potion," she said impatiently.

"I am," Draco said from the door as he came carrying a phial of a purple liquid.

"Wait," Ron said. "What did you put in there?"

"The usual ingredients for an anti-hemorrhagic potion."

Ron came closer and seized the phial before getting a whiff of what was undeniably firewhiskey.

"Did you drink?" he asked Malfoy.

There was just a hint of surprise on Draco's face, a moment when he let show the misery that was his day. Yet, there was no sympathy from Ron, just abject disgust. He seized Draco by the collar of his robes.

"Listen to me, fucking ferret. I know it was you who helped write that piece of shite in the Prophet. There'll be time to deal with that. But if anything, anything at all happens to her because of that potion, I swear I'll personally take care of you."

He let Draco go but had the meager satisfaction of seeing an edge of fear in Draco's eyes.

"That's enough," the healer interjected. "Mr Malfoy, give me that potion."

Draco did so and the healer flicked her wand above it.

"It's the correct potion, Mr Weasley."

She went to administer the potion to a still unconscious Hermione, under Ron's scrutinising eyes.

"This should stop the bleeding and stabilise her," the healer explained.

The change didn't take long to take place. However, it wasn't one for the best as Ron had hoped. Hermione started convulsing and whatever little color she had vanished from her face as she turned a sick shade of gray.

"What's happening?" Ron shouted as panic started engulfing him.

The healer looked extremely worried but ignored Ron as she frantically performed some complex moves with her wand. She finally spoke:

"It looks like she's getting a strong reaction to the potion. Mr Weasley, this is very important, was she ever victim of dark magic?"

Ron let out a mirthless laugh in his despair. Had Healer Martin not read the Prophet?

"Cruciatus curse," he said in a low voice as present day and painful memories started to mix and he grew more despondent.

The healer frowned obviously not hearing what she had expected.

Draco had remained silent since Ron had released him and had watched in horror as Granger's situation had deteriorated. He didn't want to be blamed for anything that happened to her. He had prepared the correct potion, he thought as he mentally reviewed all he knew about the anti-hemorrhagic brew. Then, following the healer's lead, something got triggered in his mind.  
>"Bellatrix, she did more than torture her," he blurted out.<p>

Both Ron and the healer snapped around to look at him.

"She probably cursed her and any future progeniture. She liked to be thorough, Aunt Bella."

And there was no cockiness in his tone this time, just actual disgust as the memories of his late aunt came flooding him.

Ron turned back to the healer:

"What can we do?"

Her solemn face told him what he feared.

"I've heard of some dark curses which effects could be triggered by pregnancy. It was usually a way people made sure their enemies wouldn't have any descendants. I've just heard of this reaction to the potion when the subject has been on the receiving end of some dark curse. Darker than the Cruciatus curse, I'm afraid. I was aware of this detail about her," she added. "Unfortunately, I'm not aware of any cure. I'm sorry, Mr Weasley."

"There must be something we can do," Ron said frantically.

"Wait," Draco interrupted as something else had made his way into his brain. "I think I know what can help her."

To say there was disbelief in the look Ron gave him was an understatement.

"Don't you think you've hurt her enough, you little fuck."

"All right, Weasley. Listen to me or would you prefer to watch her die without trying anything?"

Yes, Draco had wanted revenge on Granger but seeing her die was not what he had in mind. After all, he had had his count of seeing people die uselessly. And since he only had his job left at present time, he might as well do it properly.

"There are some potions that my grandfather developed to ward off the effects of some dark curses."

He took what looked like an old and often read leather-bound book out of his robes pocket. Ron had visions of Harry with Snape's old potions book. Nothing good had come out of it.

"Here," he said after leafing through a few pages as he showed what looked like instructions for a complicated potion written in a tiny and crooked hand.

"People are pretty indiscriminate about who they use dark magic on. My grandfather was often called to mend things", Draco explained, "or to have the apothecaries make the potion."

As he was brandishing the book, Hermione made a faint noise before she started convulsing again. Healer Martin took a quick look at Hermione and spoke urgently:

"We have to do something quickly. She's weakening."

At the words, Ron's attention switched back to Hermione. He gently stroked her hair, hoping the simple gesture could miraculously make her feel better.

"C'mon, Love. Hang in there."

He turned back to the healer who was now reviewing Abraxas' potion.

"What do you think?"

Healer Martin was frowning.

"Has this been tested, Malfoy?"

"These signs in the margin indicate my grandfather tried four times and that it worked three times."

"What happened with the fourth?" Ron enquired although he had a good idea of the outcome.

"She died," Draco responded, validating Ron's assumption.

"It also requires a difficult incantation," Healer Martin said. "And some of these ingredients are not main fare."

"I can do the incantation, and you know we carry those ingredients," Draco insisted.

Ron continued stroking Hermione's hair hoping she felt the simple gesture and would just fight long enough. He knew she was a fighter. Against all that the rational side of his brain told him, he made his decision.

"Let's try his potion."

"This isn't sanctioned by the hospital," the healer said.

"And letting your patients die is?" Ron fired back.

"Of course not. I just want to make sure you understand the risks, Mr Weasley," Healer Matting replied.

"I do."

"All right, Mr Weasley. Malfoy, go get that potion ready."

Draco nodded silently and went to his brewing station. The potion was a quick one and he was back in no time but the situation had deteriorated in the five minutes he had been away.

Granger was now thrashing on the bed. Her eyes were open but vacant and all the incantations from the healer seemed powerless to do anything.

He handed the phial containing the brew and watched as the healer held the still convulsing Granger still while a teary-eyed Weasley fed her the potion.

After a few swallows, Granger suddenly stopped seizing and fell back on the bed, suddenly utterly still.

"Is she... Is she..."

Ron couldn't finish the question while the healer went to feverishly work on Hermione, checking for a heartbeat as Ron didn't dare take another breath.

"She'll need a Rennervate," Draco drawled.

At least that was what his grandfather's book had indicated.

Healer Martin executed the charm quickly and Hermione's face seemed suddenly very peaceful.

"There's a pulse," Healer Martin announced jubilantly. "And it's steady and strong."

Draco forgot to look haughty for a minute. His grandfather's potion had actually saved Granger's life. Abraxas might not have appreciated that his hard work would benefit a Muggle-born but Draco felt a huge weight lifted from his shoulders.

the Healer went to perform a more in depth examination of Hermione and finally appeared satisfied.

"She might be asleep for a while, Mr Weasley," the healer said. "But it seems she is now out of danger. Stay with her if you want."

As healer Martin left the room, only Draco was left standing, still not fully sure of what had just happened. He had saved Granger's life.

"It doesn't get you clear for all the shite you pulled on her, Malfoy, but ..."

The words were hard to form and he never thought he would ever utter them to the ferret.

"Thank you."

Draco nodded curtly and left the room. As he walked the long corridor, he had a hard time believing what had just happened. He had saved Granger's life and Weasley had thanked him. Weirdest of all, he couldn't ignore the feeling that this was not just random or the factthat he enjoyed how he felt after saving a life: useful, proud of himself, and worth something. And things all of a sudden started to make sense again. It was with resolve he walked. If he could do this, he could go to Astoria, talk with her, get her back. He could turn things around. Maybe he had a chance after all at not being completely fucked up.

He was almost at his brewing station, suddenly uplifted by all his plans to reconquer Astoria when he met the blue eyes that were so much like hers... And they were just thirsty for murder as they looked at him.

"Mr Malfoy, please follow me."

He followed Castor Greengrass silently to his office. His mood, that had been ebullient just a moment before was now spiraling down into an abyss of darkness. Nothing good could come out of his meeting with Castor Greengrass.

When they got to Castor's office, the older man was painfully blunt.

"This is the letter making your dismissal official. Not only did you show up to work inebriated, as reported by Healer Martin, but you also used a potion unsanctioned by this hospital."

"The patient's representative approved the use of my potion and in case you didn't notice, it saved said patient's life."

"Don't be insolent with me, Malfoy," Castor almost growled. "I gave you a chance when most wouldn't even had looked at you. And what did you do? You marred the name of this hospital, you sold salacious stories to the newspaper, seriously jeopardising a project my daughter and I are working and you broke her heart."

It suddenly all made sense. Astoria was the line he shouldn't have crossed. For the first time in his life, Draco wanted to be brave.

"Sir, I do love Astoria."

"You have a strange way of showing it. You know, Malfoy, I think you are your worst enemy," Castor said pensively. "There's talent and potential in you but you always seem to throw it away. As for Astoria, she's left this afternoon to spend a few weeks on the continent. Even when she comes back, you are not to see her. Ever again."

"She'll have to tell me that herself. Good day."

He left, not wanting to show any weakness in front of Greengrass. As he got to his flat, he decided he wouldn't let the stubborn tears that clung to his lashes fall. His mother had been right: he had lost everything. But the good news was that it left him with nothing left to lose. He promised himself he would get Astoria back.

* * *

><p>Ron was stroking the voluminous hair, relishing its softness and familiarity. After the incommensurable relief he had felt when the healer had said Hermione was out of danger, doubt had insinuated itself in his mind. Hermione had been pregnant, quite a bit along actually, and she hadn't told him anything.<p>

"Why, Hermione? Why?" he whispered softly to her still sleeping form.

She started stirring and a faint word sounding like his name escaped her lips. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered until she finally opened her eyes.

"Ron..."

Her voice was gravelly.

"Let me get the healer, Love."

Healer Martin was back in no time.

"Good to see you awake, Ms Granger. How are you feeling?"

"Sore."

The healer took the time to sit down and slowly explained the events of the night and how close -much too close for Ron's taste- Hermione had come to dying.

Ron studied Hermione's reaction as the healer mentioned the miscarriage, his trained Auror eye looking for signs Hermione had known she was pregnant —or had been. There was no need to be an Auror to see she had been aware of her state. Anyone with eyes could see her face falling apart and grief settling in. She had known. And she hadn't told him.

The healer finally left and Hermione murmured:

"I need a moment."

Was it to compose herself? Most likely. He wanted to just take her in his arms and let her cry as he thought she needed. And yet, he couldn't help asking himself: why had she kept this a secret?

"Why?"

He wanted to be gentle but the hurt he felt was just too strong.

"I need to just have a moment to myself," she said in a tired voice. "Please."

"Why didn't you tell me? When did it happen? How long have you known?" he bombarded her with questions, hoping answers could somehow wash away the awful taste in his mouth. He still wasn't good enough. She still wasn't trusting him.

There was a pregnant silence before she spoke softly:

"I think it was at Harry's wedding."

A fleeting smile graced his lips at the memory but it was soon gone as she continued:

"I have known for over three weeks..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again and the fact his voice was controlled and cold was scarier to her than if he had just exploded.

"I... I wanted to... But I... well I was scared. I'm sorry, Ron."

"I'm sorry too," he said his voice constricted with emotions. "I thought after all this time you finally trusted me. I s'ppose I'm still not good enough."

"Ron, no..." she defended herself as fighting the tears that wanted to spill out just became harder of an effort.

He cleared his throat. Part of him wanted to just hold her close and another part, the one that felt betrayed and hurt, just wanted to run away.

"I think I need some time to think... and be on my own..." he told her in a subdued tone. "I'll be back," he quickly added as he saw her grow panicked at the thought he might desert her again. "Why don't you get some rest?" he told her as he squeezed her hand and rose.

How could he ask her to rest after this?

"Ron!" she called after him softly as he left the room without looking back.

She finally let the tears fall.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN** oh well, not everything is blue sky on our little lovebirds horizon. Will they survive this crisis? Next chapter will be the last (I haven't ruled out an epilogue...)_


	33. Coming Home

**A/N** **_At long last, here is the last main chapter of this story. I plan to write an epilogue that will pick up many years later but this is the wrap-up for our timeline._**

**_As always, a huge thank you to everyone who reads this story. I never would have believed that the little plot bunny that appeared in my head almost three years ago would come to fruition. Yet, it has and in great part thanks to the incredible support I have received from this community. Thank you, thank you, thank you._**

**Disclaimer: ****_usual... Not mine_**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 33: Coming home<strong>

"Well, it looks like you are ready for discharge, Miss Granger," Healer Martin announced.

There was a small shy smile forming on Hermione's face but it failed at reaching her eyes, eyes still red from her lack of sleep and all the tears she had shed.

Ron had come back, as he had promised and was currently waiting outside, giving her some privacy as she had requested while she talked to the healer. She couldn't help thinking that the distance that had wedged itself between them was a lot bigger than that between her hospital bed and the other side of her room door.

"What is the prognosis for future pregnancies?" she asked the healer.

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I did some research over the curse that had been cast on you. It only affects pregnant women. I'm not sure to what extent the potion brewed by Mr Malfoy has rid you of the curse."

That was the other surprising fact. Malfoy, vile, cowardly, and mean Draco Malfoy had been the one to save her life. Of course, it had been the same day a mean-spirited and very public article meant to damage her had been published, an article he had instigated. Was Malfoy having remorse?

"Other than the curse," the Healer continued," everything is perfectly fine and healthy from a physical perspective for you to carry a healthy pregnancy to term. You'll just have to wait a few weeks before resuming sexual activity."

Well, that probably wouldn't be an issue as she doubted Ron actually wanted to be in the same room as her, let alone the same bed.

The Healer was out and Hermione ready to go back home. Ron came back in the room:

"Ready to go home?" he asked her as his fingers played with the velvet box in his pocket. With all the events of the previous day, he hadn't had the chance to give the ring to her and now wasn't a good time. Would there ever be a good time again?

She nodded silently and he helped her stand up, until she was securely nestled in his arms. Without a word, he took her for a side-along Apparition.

The moment they arrived at their flat he made sure she was comfortably sat in the armchair before going to their bedroom and picking up his pillow and an extra blanket.

"I'll sleep in the other room," he explained as her eyes questioned him.

"Why, Ron?"

The look he gave her was one of hurt.

"You need to recover."

And so did he. He felt something had broken between the two of them and he just needed some space and time.

The look of sheer misery that crossed her face made him rethink.

"Look, Hermione, I want you to get better. Right now, I... I don't know. I love you but...

"But what?" she asked in a trembling voice as tears threatened to fall again.

"I just need some time," he told her frankly.

"Can we at least talk about this?" she cried.

He took her hands in his and crouched so he could look at her:

"I don't think I'm ready."

And that was the truth. A younger version of him would have just rowed with her, yelled a little and have ended up in a fabulous make-up session but he couldn't help the hurt and betrayal he felt. He needed to sort that out if they were to have a long life together.

* * *

><p>"Mother," Draco greeted Narcissa as she entered the flat.<p>

She wasn't nearly as furious as she had been the previous day but still exuded cold haughtiness.

She sat on the comfortable green sofa, facing her son who was slouched in the matching armchair, looking utterly defeated.

"Your friend, Miss Greengrass, is not here today?" she asked in lieu of a greeting.

"She's more than a friend," he mumbled before adding "she left me. Oh, and her father fired me."

"Oh," was all Narcissa could say.

She could have gloated, told him she had told him so but she was his mother and couldn't be this cruel.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I truly am."

He let out a mirthless laugh.

"You warned me, didn't you?"

"It was because of the article in the Prophet, wasn't it? How much had you told her?"

"Everything," he sighed. "Everything but my conversation with Bullard."

"Everything?"

"Mother, she's not the kind to tell," he found himself defending Astoria.

"And how do you know?"

"I just do. Besides, it's not like there's much more left that's not public knowledge now."

"Did you tell her about the deal with Potter and his friends?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Well, the deal is the reason I'm here. I received an owl from Shackelbolt this morning. We are to appear Monday to meet with him and Potter and his friends again since the article might be a breach of the deal."

"Very well."

"Draco," she started hesitantly. "You realise what you did was not a good idea, exposing the story for all."

"Don't tell me you feel sorry for Granger."

She sighed in exasperation.

"You didn't learn, did you? You need to let it go. Like it or not, the deal we made with them has been a good thing for us."

"It has?"

Sarcasm dripped from his words but Narcissa chose to ignore it.

"Where do you think we'd be without this deal? You found a vocation in potions. You found a woman who seems to care for you."

"In case you didn't notice, Mother, I no longer have a job working in potions and said woman left me. Oh, and yes, Father is dead."

"Don't be insolent, Draco. I told you yesterday. Your father died because of his reckless actions. And it was for the same reasons you lost your job. But it doesn't matter. You can get another job. Join me at the Apothecaries."

It was a tempting offer as he was rather certain that nobody, besides his mother would offer him a job. Was he ready for work at the Apothecaries?

"I'll think about it," he finally said. He didn't know whether the answer satisfied his mother but she dropped the topic.

"Now about the Greengrass girl, how much do you care about her?"

The dark look he gave her was answer enough.

"Then go for her."

And despite all her earlier scolding, he knew his mother still loved him unconditionally and it was a comfort he was glad to have.

* * *

><p>Harry had a vague recollection of the days spent on the run after Ron had come back. To say there was a chill in the air between his two friends would have been a gross understatement. They seem awkward together. He also noticed that the ring that Ron had shown him a few days before was still not adorning Hermione's finger.<p>

Obviously, there was something brewing between the two. And while his past experience had taught him it could be painful to be in the middle of these two rowing, he decided against his best judgment to defuse some of the tension:

"So, congratulations, Hermione. That was a brilliant presentation on Friday and it looks like you've now achieved one of your main goals. Where did you disappear after the presentation?"

"I... I was sick and had to go to St Mungo's."

Ron cast her a look that openly carried his opinion about lying to Harry too.

"Oh? I'm sorry. Are you better?" Harry asked, suddenly concerned.

"Yes... Yes, I'm better," she told Harry as she offered him a shy smile while Ron quirked an eyebrow questioningly at her statement.

She had hurt him, she knew. He felt betrayed that she hadn't told him about the pregnancy, his old and deeply buried insecurities suddenly brought back to the surface. But she knew him to also worry for her. And he was right. She might heal quickly physically but it would take her longer to grieve and feel better. It could be easier if he weren't that cold and distant toward her.

She continued talking, not wanting to look at Ron and his somewhat reproachful glances.

"There's something you should know before we see Malfoy, Harry. He kind of saved my life last week."

Harry stared at her incredulously.

"I know. It's hard to believe," Hermione pursued, "especially when he had that article published. But he did brew some obscure potion that saved my life."

"What? How sick did you get that you needed a potion to save your life? How did that happen? Why didn't you call anyone?" Harry asked suddenly very worried.

Hermione had the impression that she had also hurt Harry by not telling him, her best friend, how close she had flirted with death.

What was there to say?

"She told you," Ron replied. "She got sick. We went to St Mungo's and the only thing that saved her was a potion that the ferret brewed," Ron intervened to Hermione's relief.

"But how did you get sick?"

"Harry, could you please leave her alone."

And despite their temporary estrangement, Ron came back to the rescue, for which she was deeply grateful.

"All right, then," Harry said, knowing better than getting in the middle of these two. He might talk to Ron later, alone.

"So what do you want to do about Malfoy and the deal?"

"He broke the deal, didn't he?" Ron said.

"Actually, he didn't," Hermione said in a low voice. It was our part not to tell the story. His exposé actually renders the deal moot. I never thought he would incriminate himself that way just to get at me."

"But if he incriminates himself, then he's still liable for his actions, isn't he?" Harry asked.

"There already was a trial. And remember, Harry. He saved my life like his mother saved yours."

Ron was about to speak when Kingsley entered.

"The Malfoys should be here shortly. Hermione, I looked back at the details of the agreement and there was nothing against them telling the story."

"I know," she sighed before looking at Harry in a way that said "I told you so."

"So what are our options to make him pay for what he did?" Ron asked belligerently.

"I think the deal is actually moot," Kingsley said as you no longer have leverage on them. The part about not using dark magic, however, that stands."

There was a small satisfaction there, Hermione mused.

"What about an apology?" Ron asked.

"Well, that'd be the decent thing to do but I'm not sure there's any decency in the ferret," Harry replied.

"I'm afraid I agree with Harry," Kingsley added in his booming voice. "Well, here they are," he added as the silhouettes of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy became visible. "Let's keep this short."

* * *

><p>Here she was back in the small office that was now hers. Last time she had been there, she had been putting the last revision on her speech to the Wizengamot to pass the fair wage law. She had also been on her way to see the Muggle doctor who had confirmed she had been pregnant. And now, her law had passed and she didn't have to worry about telling Ron about her pregnancy. She had lost it, and Ron's trust in the process.<p>

Whilst she could understand his feeling of betrayal, she couldn't bear the cold treatment he was giving her, especially at a time when she needed him more than ever. He had stayed with her, had gone with her when they had to face the Malfoys again to renegotiate their deal. Yes, he had been there physically but not once had he held her hand or kissed her or just held her. How could he be so close and yet so distant?

She had to forge through. She wanted to believe they could overcome this —they had overcome a lot more, after all— but couldn't help the insidious doubt from insinuating itself in her heart.

Well, she would have a distraction with her first appointment since she was to meet with Astoria Greengrass again this morning. She had been surprised, happily so but surprised nonetheless, when Astoria had proven to be a woman of her word. Astoria had done her share and came prepared, providing relevant information when it was needed. She was a bit of a talker and definitely a bit of an odd person. Yet, while Hermione had no illusion they would ever become fast friends, she had learned to respect the younger Greengrass daughter.

She was surprised to see Castor Greengrass enter her office instead of his daughter.

"Miss Granger," he introduced himself while extending his hand. "It's my pleasure to meet you as I've heard a lot. I'm afraid Astoria had to make an unexpected trip to France and will be unavailable for the next few weeks."

"Oh?"

"It's a personal matter, I'm afraid."

Hermione suddenly remembered that Astoria had been supposedly linked to Draco Malfoy and wondered if her sudden exile had anything to do with it.

"She has kept me informed of all the wonderful work you and she have already done and I am in touch with her. I will just substitute for her until she comes back if that's all right with you."

"Well, let's get started then," Hermione said. "We have a rough draft of the law we want to propose. We were working on the details and were aiming for a presentation in a month."

And she started working with Castor Greengrass, finding him pleasant and well-informed. And while she focused on helping werewolf victims, she could momentarily forget about her own heartbreak.

* * *

><p>Daphne almost slammed the door in Draco's face when she saw who was standing at her door. Instead, she decided to let him have a piece of her mind.<p>

"You have some gall, coming here, Draco Malfoy. Astoria is not here and even if she were, she wouldn't want to talk with you.

"I know," he said in a tired voice, somehow betraying his lack of sleep since she had left him. "Daphne, please, I need to know where she is. I need to talk with her."

Daphne took him in. The famous Draco had changed quite a bit since he had been with her at Hogwarts. Gone was his haughtiness. Maybe it was just a fleeting moment when Draco Malfoy had let his mask slip and maybe there was genuine regret and hurt. Perhaps... Daphne knew her sister had been smitten –and probably still was– and must have seen something in Draco, something she might just be glancing at right now. No matter, her loyalty was to Astoria first. Astoria who was slowly recovering in their cottage on a French island. Astoria who had wept profusely in her arms the previous week. And as the vision of her broken-hearted sister came back to mind, Daphne forgot about any modicum of good will she might have felt towards Draco.

"Go now, before I call Papa."

She didn't wait for him to reply and shut the door in his face.

As he stood on the steps leading to the front door of the handsome house where the Greengrass lived, Draco felt a rush of emotions. He had been able to get a short glimpse into Daphne's mind, careful not to prod too deep so as not to alert her. He knew Astoria wouldn't approve of such tactics but all was fair in love and war.

He knew now how much his actions had hurt the person he had come to love more than anyone in the world. And he knew she was on a French island. Well, that was a beginning at least.

* * *

><p>She had always been mesmerised by the sea, its waves an unending crash of majestic beauty. She was sitting on a sand dune, seagulls her only companions, lost in thoughts as she reread her sister's letter for the third time. Draco had come looking for her, wanting to talk.<p>

Astoria sighed and rose and kicked some sand with her bare toes. She had always loved the small island, off the French coast, where her parents had sometimes taken Daphne and her in the summer. The island seemed to be incredibly popular with Muggles too but she didn't mind. And the family cottage was very well hidden by many enchantments. As she made her way to the small cottage, she tried to think about how she could deal with Draco. And while her head told her she should never have anything else to do with him, her traitorous heart still wanted him. Until said heart could be more trustworthy, she would have to stay on the beautiful Ile de Ré, watching the sea, orchestrating remotely with her father's help a new project law to be passed and trying to forget how much she had fallen for Draco Malfoy.

* * *

><p>How many islands could there be in France? Draco had done some research looking at all islands where there were known magical settlements and there was more than a fair few. It would take him a long time to figure out which island Astoria had fled to and find her back. He sighed deeply. If only he could have got the name from Daphne.<p>

Well, he should know that wizards or witches who didn't want to be found definitely had the means to remain hidden. He wondered anyway whether it was wise to try to find and confront her. Maybe an owl to find her with a letter telling her how sorry he was and how big an idiot he had been would be a good start. Somehow, he didn't think that would be enough to get Astoria back. He did have to find her and talk to her.

So he had to work on other things, namely him and redeeming himself in her eyes. And he might have an idea of just how to do that. Most surprising of all was that the idea had come to him thanks to Granger. Wasn't it ironic how things worked? First, he had to sell it to his mother but he didn't think it'd be too difficult.

* * *

><p>Harry was not sure how to broach the topic. It had been weeks and he had kept silent but could not ignore anymore how visibly frosty Ron and Hermione's relationship had become. He wondered whether he was crossing some boundaries. Right, like Ron and Hermione had never done so with him.<p>

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

Ron didn't even raise his head to look at Harry, instead preferring to stay focused on the report he was reading. For a brief moment, Harry couldn't help thinking Hermione was definitely having an influence, whatever else might be going on. And then he remembered why he had started the conversation.

"Well, I couldn't help noticing that, well, Hermione, she isn't wearing the ring.

"You mean that ring," Ron said as he retrieved the small velvet box from his trousers pocket.

"Yeah... Yes, I mean that ring," Harry stuttered. "Is everything all right between you and Hermione?" he asked. "You..." Harry swallowed before saying it all at once "you've seemed a bit cold toward each other these past few weeks..."

"Have we, now?" Ron asked quietly.

He suspected Harry was asking out of concern but it was really none of his business what was going on between Hermione and him.

"Just saying," Harry defended himself. "You're both my best friends. Did something happen?"

"Yeah, something happened," Ron replied bitterly.

Harry looked at him expectantly before asking:

"So you two had a row?"

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for the concern but just fuck off, will you?"

There was no meanness in how the words were said, just a genuine desire to be left alone, yet, they stung.

"Right," Harry muttered. "Just, if you want to talk about it..."

"Harry!"

"When you're ready," Harry added quickly. "Well, I'll be there."

Ron grunted in response and Harry took it as his clue to drop the topic... For now. He was also going to talk with Hermione because whatever had happened, it certainly made Ron utterly miserable.

* * *

><p>Draco had not expected to see his aunt when he called unannounced at the Manor. He always had a slight repulsion at seeing Andromeda as she reminded him too much of Bellatrix.<p>

"Draco, what a pleasant surprise," Narcissa said as she laid a perfunctory kiss on his cheek.

"Andromeda and I were having tea. Would you care to join us?"

He nodded, noticing for the first time the young boy playing with some of his old toys by the hearth of the sitting room fireplace.

"I think you've met Teddy, haven't you?" Andromeda said quietly.

So that was the boy who had Harry Potter as a godfather. He had grown since Draco had last laid eyes on him, now looking like an active toddler engaging stuffed dragons into battle.

"Yes," Draco replied. "I have."

He silently joined his mother and his aunt and sipped tea while they continued their conversation. He wanted to talk to his mother alone. How strange it was that she seemed to have buried any ill feeling toward her Muggle-loving sister and welcomed into the Manor the baby she knew to be the son of a Werewolf. And all of a sudden, the truth hit him. His mother had never been a loud advocate of blood purity like his father had been. He had no doubt where her feeling were on the topic but if she had to choose between family she cared about and espousing ideas now extremely unpopular, the choice was an easy one for Narcissa. And it had always been. She had chosen him over the Dark Lord after all. And it was the reason she had chosen the deal with Granger: it protected her family from jail. All Narcissa Malfoy had done had been driven by fiercely protecting her family because it mattered more to her and when she had focused on protection in the name of love, he had focused on destruction in the name of revenge. Narcissa had reconnected with her long-estranged sister and he had lost the woman he had lived more than anything else in the world. Suddenly, his mother's words made complete sense to him. It would take more than finding Astoria and apologise: he would have to show to her he could do things for the good. And his idea was going into this direction. If only he could talk with his mother privately. She was talking with her sister about taking a short holiday.

"I would like some change of scenery. Maybe the sea."

"I've heard the French coast is really nice. Castor always raves about this small island: Ile de Ré where he has a cottage. He says it's beautiful, even in the autumn."

Draco dropped his spoon on the ground and murmured a quick 'sorry'.

He didn't know what was more surprising: that he had finally found the name of the island on which Astoria was hiding or the most random and unexpected source from which it had come. If anything, it made his need to talk with his mother even more urgent. As if on cue, Andromeda looked at her watch and said:

"Well, I think Teddy needs a nap. Thank you for having us, Cissy."

"My pleasure," Narcissa replied and Draco could see his mother was genuine as she said the words.

"Draco," Andromeda nodded curtly and he replied in kind.

The minute Andromeda and her grandson were out, Draco's sat across from his mother. He wanted to go after Astoria but he had to get this done first.

"What are you so impatient to tell me about?" she asked him, looking slightly amused.

"I think I have a new potential development for the Apothecaries if you still want me to work with you."

"Go on," she invited him, her curiosity piqued.

And he started explaining his idea, one he thought was actually excellent. When he was done, his mother looked at him pensively.

"This would definitely be a new venture for the Apothecaries. One that could be good and create a new legacy. And it could bring a very positive light to our name. I think I like it. Maybe a few things I would like to change. Here's how."

As she explained, Draco saw she was giving him a chance, a chance to live his life fully, doing something he liked, but also a chance to redeem himself and win Astoria back. Now he just had to go to that bloody French island.

* * *

><p>Hermione had been happy to work on the new project right after her fallout with Ron. Castor Greengrass had taken over and explained that his daughter was still behind the project but had to suddenly leave the country. She had not questioned Astoria's motives and had just worked with her father, finding him a sharp and compassionate man. Just like his daughter, he had been upfront about his motives. Yes, he wanted to find a cure and he was proud of the ward he had put together that tended to victims of lycanthropy. But he also wanted the renown that came with it.<p>

The project was a perfect distraction from the drama that was her personal life. It had been nearly two months and Ron had never moved back into their bedroom. He had also started working more at night, minimizing their interactions and increasing the awkwardness of it all. They were what could be called 'civil' to each other, saying good morning and good night and talking about his job or hers. He still seemed to care about what she did or her for that matter. She had seen him several times reaching for her and stopping halfway.

And people had started to notice. Mrs Weasley had asked her several times if everything was all right, as had Ginny and Harry, all of them obviously aware that something was going on. She supposed Ron had endured the same barrage of questions and had obviously remained silent, for which she was thankful as she definitely didn't want to share with the entire Weasley camp what had happened. Yet, the entire situation was driving her mad. She had left him the time and distance, grieving mostly on her own for the baby she had lost and it was time to get him back... Or lose him for good. Either way, she couldn't go on like this. She had to get him to talk to her.

* * *

><p>Astoria was really excited to have a letter from her father as she came back from a stroll on the beach. She rewarded the owl that had been patiently waiting for her and hastily opened the missive. She had followed from afar the progress on the law project on lycanthropy, her father keeping her apprised of the developments. And she had to be back to see the project she had originated be brought to fruition, even if it meant leaving her sanctuary and potentially running into Draco again. And at once, she made her mind and started packing her belongings, preparing her return to England.<p>

* * *

><p>She had come home early in hope she could catch him. She was happy to see his Aurors robes carelessly thrown on the sofa. She sighed, picking up the robes as something fell from one of the pockets: a small velvet box. She carefully opened it to reveal an exquisite ring. She wondered how long the ring had been there but it warmed her heart. He still wanted to be with her. She put the ring back where she had found it and made her way to the spare bedroom that had now become his. He was sprawled across the bed, his long body not quite fitting on the small bed. She heard the gentle snores emanating from him as he seemed to be in deep slumber. He had been working overtime, spending as much time away from her as he could, it seemed. She quietly lay next to him, her small fingers tenderly caressing the fiery hair she had missed so much. As her hand moved to his stubbly face, she heard him mumble something sounding like her name and she sighed with happiness at the tender way he said it.<p>

Slowly, she lowered her face closer to his until her lips were skimming his. It had been so long since she had been able to do just this. Maybe they didn't need to talk after all. Maybe if she just kissed him...

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt his lips respond to her touch and his arm wrap itself around her waist, bringing her closer, flush with his always warm body. For a wild moment, they just kissed and grabbed each other like two ravenous ones, the touch and smell of each other as mesmerising as ever. Soon, they were half-naked; their underwear the last barrier to full skin contact, and neither could deny the fire between them. Yet, as she reached for his boxer shorts, currently tightly tented, his hand closed around her wrist. He was slightly out of breath when he told her:

"I'm not sure it's a good idea."

And it was as if he had doused her with a bucket of cold water.

"Ron, she pleaded, "I'm fine. I'm healed. You want this as much as I do."

"I do," he agreed and cursed himself for backing out now but there were other things to clear first. "I just think we have more to sort out."

And all of a sudden, her hurt was replaced by anger, white and searing.

"And how are we supposed to do that when you won't talk to me, when you spend your time avoiding me?" she spat out.

"I told you, I just need a little time, is all."

"I gave you time, Ron! Two months and we're still at the same point."

She rose from the bed and he wanted her back the moment she left. She looked equally frustrated and hurt and he hated himself for that but he couldn't control how he was feeling. Did he want for things to go back to the way they were? More than anything. There was no word to describe how much he was missing her and what they had had. But he couldn't help thinking of how she had kept such a big thing from him, nor the way it made him feel worthless and betrayed. And he didn't know how to get rid of the foreboding feeling that she might betray him again. What else had she kept from him?

"I don't think I can do this anymore," she finally said quietly as she started putting her clothes back on.

"Do what?" he said suddenly worried by the softening of her tone that now sounded utterly defeated.

"You and me like this. I think..." She swallowed as the next part was difficult to say. "I think we need a break from each other. I just can't go on with you like that. I... I'll go back to my parents until I can find a new flat."

They had survived a war, his defection, and many other much pettier things and it was how it was to end? He wanted to tell her that it was a mistake, that she needed to stay, that there was still time to work things out and make them go back the way they were. Yet, no words came out, just a nod of his head.

She finished dressing and used her wand to quickly pack her essential belongings. She called after Crookshanks but he refused to come with her and his mismatched eyes seemed to tell her she was mad for leaving. What did the feline know? She didn't say good bye and Disapparated to a quiet alley near her parents' London home.

* * *

><p>It had taken him a few days but he tracked where the Greengrass house was on the French island. There were actually a few wizards on the islands living amongst the Muggles and it had taken only a few questions. He made the way to where the cottage was supposed to be, invisible to him as it was protected by a Fidelius charm but he could feel the magic in the air. She might be standing a short distance away from him and his heart seemed to beat faster.<p>

An old man approached him.

"Qu'est-ce que vous faites ici? C'est une propriété privée."

Yes, he knew he was trespassing on private property and was currently quite glad his mother had forced him to learn some French.

"Je cherche une femme. Mademoiselle Greengrass."

The old man grunted as the name was obviously familiar to him.

"Elle est partie hier. Elle est rentrée chez elle."

Astoria had left the charming French island and had gone back home? That meant she was ready to talk with him again. He murmured a quick "Merci" before leaving in a hurry to go back home himself.

* * *

><p>It was nice to be back in London after her stay in France. She had missed her family and she was glad to be able to accompany her father for what was to be the last visit with Granger before their project of law was presented to the Wizengamot.<p>

Hermione greeted Astoria and her father and invited them to sit.

"A pleasure to see you again, Miss Greengrass."

If she was heartbroken, Astoria looked amazingly well, like someone who has spent a long and good holiday and Hermione realised it was what had just happened. Maybe she needed to do the same and get away from where everything reminded her of Ron after she presented that law project. All she knew was that her reflection had looked positively ghastly when she had looked in the mirror that morning. The long hours she spent at work probably didn't help with her appearance but it allowed her to focus on something else than him and how she had walked out, preferring not to be with him rather than live the lie they had lived for the last two months.

"And me, you," Astoria replied. "Papa has kept me abreast of all the developments during my, well let's call it a holiday. It seems you've worked really hard to make this happen."

"I have," Hermione replied "and we have a presentation tomorrow."

"I have done a fair share of networking," Castor announced, "and I think we have more than a decent chance of getting this passed the first time."

"This is fantastic," Astoria enthused. "May I see the draft of your presentation?"

As she read, Astoria realised that her father was correct and that their chances were more than fair of getting the legislation passed. All she had worked for was finally bearing fruit and it couldn't have been a better gift to welcome her back. They continued discussing a few last minute changes until everyone was satisfied with how things stood and Castor and Astoria got ready to leave. As Castor was already at the door, Astoria said:

"May I have a word with Miss Granger, in private?"

Castor nodded and Astoria was left alone with Hermione.

"I want to thank you for everything you've done. I have no doubt this will be a success and that's in great part thanks to you."

"Thank you. You and your father certainly helped."

"I also wanted to tell you I am sorry for everything that happened to you during the war and for what Draco did to you."

"You know it was Malfoy who provided the information to that cow Bullard?"

Astoria had to smile at hearing the prim and proper Granger call someone a cow.

"A poor decision on his end, I'm afraid, but yes, I figured it out. Draco and I were briefly in a relationship and he'd told me about what happened before it was published. Unfortunately he didn't tell me about talking to that -what did you call her? A cow? - that cow Bullard, which is the cause of the brevity of our relationship."

"You and Malfoy?" Hermione said with doubt.

"I know, surprising. I know what he's done and what he's been. I knew going in. Anyway,

I'm not making excuses for him or his behaviour. That'll be his job. However, you must know that there's part of him that regrets this, even if he's not aware of it. I've seen the nightmares. I think there's still hope for him."

Hermione ignored whether Astoria was still talking to her or to herself on that last comment.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Granger. I know you'll be brilliant."

* * *

><p>Astoria had spent another hour with her father, enjoying tea at the Leaky Cauldron. She had then decided it was time for her to sort a few things out, chief amongst them her relationship with Draco. How would he react? She knew not. Yet, she had to do something for closure. All these weeks of solitude and sea-watching had rendered one thing obvious to her: she still had a lot of unresolved feelings for Draco.<p>

She knocked on his door, uncertain as to whether he would open it. She waited mere seconds before he opened it. The look of surprise on his face was one not often seen on it.

"Astoria," he greeted her and let her come in. "I trust you are well," he added as she set foot in the familiar flat and noticed the traveling bag and cloak.

"You've been traveling?" she asked him.

"I just came back."

"Where were you?"

"Looking for someone. I was told she had left when I finally found where she was hiding," he said as he closed the distance between them.

His hand went up in the air, as if reaching slowly for her face to caress it but he stopped halfway, remembering things were now different.

"Maybe you didn't need to travel and she was coming to find you."

"And does she want to talk with me?"

"As a matter of fact, she does."

"Well, let's get comfortable then, shall we?"

He invited her to sit on the green sofa whilst he prepared some tea. Once done, he laid the silver platter with teapot and ornate cups on a table in front of her and took a seat in the opposing and matching armchair.

She helped herself to some tea, noticing he had remembered her fondness for Earl Grey and sugar but no milk. It didn't make what she had to say easier.

"What you did was despicable, Draco. You realise that, don't you?"

"And what was that?"

"Talking to Bullard so she could publish the article in the Prophet. Why would you do something like that?"

"Granger was responsible for my father's death."

"Is that really what you think?"

"Not anymore," he sighed.

It had been difficult to accept, especially as the alternative was a much easier one.

"Did you apologise to her?"

"What for? I saved her life. Isn't that enough?"

"You saved her life?" she asked dubiously.

"And that was the official reason why your father sacked me."

"Explain."

And he did, telling her what had happened that fateful night. She listened, not interrupting him once.

When he was done, she finally spoke.

"You did your job, saving her. That didn't absolve you for what you did to her, though."

"And what should I do?" he asked with sudden indignation.

"Apologise. I realise the action is unfamiliar to you but that's the proper thing to do when you willingly hurt people. Apologise and ask for forgiveness. My father could use an apology as well, as could many others you've hurt."

"Does that include you?" he asked softly.

"What do you think?"

He had had a glimpse of her pain through her sister's eyes and mind. Not a pretty sight, especially knowing he bore the responsibility for it. He couldn't ignore how awful it made him feel. For the first time in his life he had felt remorse for his actions because they had hurt someone else. The words came out of their own accord and for once he didn't have to think or compartmentalise before he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Astoria. I never wanted to hurt you. You know this. I... I love you."

He reached for her and she didn't pull away, not when his lips touched her hair, not when she heard him sigh with contentment, not when he gently kissed her mouth.

It was when he tried to deepen the kiss that she gently but firmly pushed him away.

"It's not that easy, Draco. You can't just expect to resume where we left off."

He had not been forgiven yet.

"Then help me get there," he asked her softly. When she put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, he knew it would be a process to earn her back but she could forgive him. And that glimmer of hope was all he needed.

* * *

><p>When the applauses rang around her, it felt like deja vu. She had succeeded and the project she had worked on with Castor and Astoria Greengrass was passed. New laws didn't necessarily change mentalities but it was a beginning. And that gave her something to still focus on, even after the law was passed and her official work might be done. She still needed something, anything to focus on, as nothing could be as bleak as her personal life. It had been a week since she had moved back with her parents. One week of crying herself to sleep and working for hours on end to not feel the pain and void in her life.<p>

She had noticed that Ron had come to watch her and had been sitting between Harry and Ginny. How much did they know? Had there been questions about why she had not shown up at the weekly Sunday dinner at the Burrow?

She didn't have time to think anymore as Castor Greengrass, his wife and daughters and Andromeda approached her at once.

"This was truly brilliant, Miss Granger," Castor enthused. "Your work will help advance magical research and obliterate old prejudices."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Very well done indeed, Hermione," Andromeda said warmly. "I wish Remus and Dora could be here," she added wistfully as her hand automatically went to caress young Teddy's currently blue hair.

"Thank you. I see this as a legacy of what they fought for."

Astoria was beaming.

"I knew you were the right person for the job. I told you we'd succeed."

And Hermione found herself smiling at the younger Greengrass daughter's enthusiasm.

She received thanks and congratulations from a number of people, including Kingsley, Professor McGonagall and Mr Weasley, the latter having the decency to avoid broaching the topic of her relationship with Ron. Yet, her most surprising visitor was Draco Malfoy.

"May I have a word?"

To say she was surprised was an understatement.

"Why?"

"You're not gonna make this easy, Granger, are you? I want to...erm, well, apologise."

If she had been surprised before, it was nothing to what she felt now. She just burst out laughing.

"Well tried, Malfoy, but nothing coming from you will ever sound like a sincere apology."

"I suppose I deserve that."

She stopped laughing for a moment and looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"What happened to you? What kind of scheme are you working on?"

She saw his eyes briefly turn toward Astoria and it made sense all of a sudden. She whispered more for herself than for the sake of the conversation:

"Astoria Greengrass..."

"It's not a scheme. I have a plan for the future and I owe some of it to you."

"Do you, now?"

"When I saved your life when you lay there dying," he started and the reminder of what had transpired at St Mungo's was like a dagger piercing through her as she suddenly became overwhelmed by a sense of grief and loss. He ignored it and continued: "I used a potion from my grandfather's book. There are many potions in this book to fight various dark curses and poisons. Many of them are unknown but Grandfather was meticulous about documenting their effect. I want to develop those. Mother and I will do this under another branch of the Apothecaries. So, you see, your plan is working."

Was it? Malfoy was turning his life around and doing things for a purpose that could benefit more than himself. It definitely was a new direction. Was it a play? It was too early to say but there definitely seemed to be something different in him.

"Anyway, take it or not, but this is my formal apology for the article that ran in the Prophet."

"What about everything else you did?"

He hadn't seen it that way, thinking an apology for the article would suffice. He should have known it would take more. He briefly looked again in Astoria's direction, who seemed to have followed the exchange from far away, and he found the courage to do what part of him knew he should have done a long time ago:

"Sorry for everything else," he said in a barely audible voice.

"I'm fine with this, especially if you do spend time working on potions for healing purposes. You did save my life. I think we are now settled. Good luck with your endeavours. "

She took this entirely too well, he thought.

"That's it?"

"Well, it is for me. I really have no desire to spend any time with you or ever see you in the future. Oh, and you also owe a big apology to Ron and Harry."

He looked dumbfounded for a moment before asking:

"Why isn't Weasley here, drooling all over you like a puppy?"

He knew he had hit a nerve when he saw her tense.

And it was the inopportune time Weasley chose to appear at their side.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

"I think he has something to say to you," Hermione said, suddenly relaxed at Ron's presence.

"Yeah? What's that, Malfoy?"

While Granger was a prodigious witch, and Draco would never admit this to her, he never felt threatened by her as she seemed to be somewhat sensible. It was a different case with Weasley. Draco supposed Weasley was a decent wizard, and certainly a fine duellist, but it wasn't of Weasley's magic that Draco was scared. It was if his proclivity to use non-magical means. In that area, Draco thought Weasley was actually quite talented as he remembered his broken nose from the battle and the split lip when they had met the first time to talk about the plan. He swallowed hard and spat out the words:

"I'm sorry."

"Really?"

Weasley had the audacity to smile. "What for? Being a twerp? A cowardly bastard? Of just for being?"

Although she had a hard time suppressing a smile of her own, Hermione decided that Malfoy, although deserving of Ron's comments, should also be given a chance since he was obviously trying hard.

"He's apologising for everything he did, Ron"

The name sounded so familiar and yet like a forgotten word to her tongue. They hadn't spoken in a week, since she had left their flat. He seemed both surprised and happy to hear her say his name and remained silent for a second before realising what Hermione had just said and that Malfoy was still standing next to them.

"Everything? Including that article in the Prophet, or not doing anything when you were tortured?"

And there it was. Ron didn't care so much about an apology to him although he certainly was owed one for all the misdeeds Malfoy had managed against him over the years. No, Ron worried about her.

"I... I am sorry for that too," Draco said.

This road to redemption would be a hard thing but then a look at Astoria told him it might be worth it if she were to stay in his life.

"I s'ppose that's a beginning," Ron said. "Now can you get the fuck out of here so I can talk with Hermione."

Draco didn't wait to be asked again and moved until he was close to Astoria, who took his hand in hers. Hermione was still surprised at the turn of events and somewhat dubious at Draco's new direction but she thought it was a case of wait and see. She turned back to Ron and noticed he was looking tired too.

"Not sleeping well, are you?"

He didn't deny it.

"I wanna talk, Hermione."

"Go on," she invited him.

"Not here," he slightly nodded in the direction of the various reporters in the room, including Miranda Bullard.

"All right," she acquiesced. "We can go to my office."

"Can we go home instead?"

Home? He still thought of their flat as home.

He didn't wait for an answer and took her hand. He seemed to think for a second and gave her a passionate kiss for everyone to see. She just had time to see the flash of a camera before she was engulfed in a side-along Apparition.

When she regained her bearings, she noticed they were in the sitting room of their flat. Crookshanks was sleeping on the sofa and barely looked at her before rising and walking to finish his nap in the bedroom. Ron, on the other hand was entirely focused on her. Slightly befuddled, she asked him:

"What was that all about?"

"I felt like kissing you," he said as his lips upturned slightly. "And I want to talk with you and not with everyone watching."

"All right."

She seemed to accept his explanation and he knew it was time to say what he had rehearsed the past few days but found his lips unable to form the words. After all, talking about his feelings had never been something he had excelled at.

"You were brilliant today," he started, foregoing the rehearsed talk. "Absolutely brilliant."

"Thank you. It was a collective effort and it will help the cause of people like Remus."

"Yeah..."

Silence again.

"Ron..."

"Hermione..."

They said it at the same time, somewhat awkward.

"I'm sorry."

Again, their words were spoken in unison. Hermione decided to keep quiet and let him finish.

"I was quite hacked off that you'd keep something that major from me. It made me feel... I dunno, like I'm still not good enough for you."

"Why would you think such a thing," she told him softly. "If anyone was not good enough it was me. I was scared, Ron. I knew you'd be ecstatic, that you'd be a great father. But I don't know that I'd make a good mother, not when we work so much, not when I don't know what to do around Teddy or Victoire."

"Bollocks," he told her. "You'll be good like you're good at everything. Well except for flying..."

She smiled slightly as stubborn tears clung to her lashes. She had to tell him the entire truth.

"Ron, I was scared and there were times when I tried to deny to myself I was pregnant, even when all evidence pointed to the contrary. And then... Then I wished I could be no longer pregnant."

There, she had said it. Now, he could hate her for good.

Instead, he took her face in his hands and wiped the tears that were now falling freely.

"You were scared, Hermione. Trust me, I know what kind of stupid shite you can think sometimes when you're scared."

"But don't you see? I thought I'd be better off without being pregnant. It wasn't part of my plans. I wished it could be gone and then it was gone."

"Hermione, you know it wasn't your fault. The fucking bitch had cursed you."

"But I wanted it gone and then it was," she cried before adding "And you were gone with it."

"I didn't leave you," he defended himself. "Not again," he added more softly and she knew guilt ate at him too. "I never want to leave you," he added with more conviction.

"Then don't be so distant. I need you, Ron. I love you."

And in that instant, he knew and things were clear again in his head. They might make mistakes, they might hurt each other on occasion, but they could forgive because there was the ultimate bond of love between them. He quickly rummaged through his pocket for the velvet box he had been carrying for over two months:

"I've been wanting to give you this for a long time. Let's not wait anymore. Let's get married."

Her eyes darted from the box and back to him and she both cried and laughed at the same time before replying:

"Yes, let's get married."

He took the ring from its velvety case and put it on her finger before kissing her. It started as a tender kiss and evolved rapidly into a deep snogging.

And all of sudden, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Her hands snaked around his neck drawing him closer. His own hands went to land of her shapely bum, a happy reunion but just the beginning.

He noticed her hands were now lower and quickly attacking his Auror robes, pushing them away so she could get to touch his bare skin as fast as she could. He quickly aided her and after a few frenzied seconds, her robes, his jumper and his shirt were gone too. He kissed her again, the angle of her jaw before descending along her collarbone to the point he knew to be her weakness.

Her legs went to tie themselves around his waist and, never removing his lips from her skin, he carried her to the bed whilst a seemingly smug Crookshanks left the space he had occupied and let the two lovers at their happy reunion.

Ron gently laid her in the bed and finally took the time to look at her again. The apprehension was still in her eyes, fear he didn't want her. How wrong she was. He had never stopped loving and wanting her. Slowly, his hand went to caress her fabulous hair, gently followed by his lips as he kissed every inch of skin he could find and as his fingers worked diligently at baring more. Her deft fingers responded in kind, snaring themselves in his locks while her lips sought blindly for his skin, the unique taste of which she had been yearning for so much.

It was with urgency that they worked at undressing each other, the pleasure of getting reacquainted with the familiar act completely thrilling. He sighed as his hands made contact with her small and round breast, fitting perfectly in the mould his hands made. It was all so familiar and yet felt so fresh and new. He savoured every instant and through urgency was coursing through him, he took care not to be hasty and to thoroughly enjoy the truly magical moment.

He lavished her torso with tender kisses before going south and to her sex, sleek and waiting for him. It only took a few adroit licks before she came forcefully in his arms, her abandon and purring of his name making him incredibly harder.

How she had missed this: him and her in perfect accord, the yang to her yin, her perfect complement. She sighed as her body hummed from her burst of pleasure and decided to reverse roles. She made him roll over and lie on his back as she proceeded to work on his long and still somewhat lanky body, the sight of which never failed to excite her. She rained kisses and caresses on him, using both hands and lips to tease and entice, relishing in the moan of surrender that erupted out of him as she took him in her mouth. She toyed with him for a few moments before climbing back atop him. As she slowly impaled herself on him, sheathing him in a velvety grip, he felt like he had come home. She raised her hands to her hair, delighted by the familiar friction of him in her, and began riding him, slowly at first and gradually faster until they finally came undone together.

She collapsed on him and he promptly gathered her in his arms, their breath still ragged from their coupling, and just played with a loose tendril before his lips roamed over her right ear and whispered.

"I love you, always. Come back home."

She didn't move, didn't even open her eyes, and just smiled as she told him:

"I just did."

She was back where she belonged, in his arms, in his life, home.


	34. Epilogue

_**A/N** At long last, the epilogue. Thank you to everyone who has read this story over the long time it has taken me to finish it._

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

"Wake up, Hugo, wake up," Rose said enthusiastically as she shook none too gently her younger brother.

He carefully opened an eye, and then the second as he was surprised to see his sister up and fully dressed before he had even heard his alarm clock. Rose was never one to wake up early. Actually, now that he thought of it, she could be downright a bear in the morning. And then his brain slowly caught up: today was the first day of September and Rose was going to Hogwarts.

She sat on the edge of his bed, ignoring the hissing protest of an aging Crookshanks who had elected Hugo's bed as his own too. The excitement was blatant in Rose's bright blue eyes. Hugo supposed he would be excited too when it was his turn to go to the famed school but he couldn't suppress the feeling of sadness that seemed to invade him at the thought Rose would leave home today. He would be left alone with his parents and old Crookshanks. He would not tell Rose but he would miss her for, despite all their constant bickering, he did adore his sister and she was definitely a fun person to be around.

"Are you all packed?"

"Yes, I'm so excited. Do you think I'll be in Gryffindor?"

"Is your name Weasley?" Hugo asked in a yawn as he stretched and proceeded to pet Crookshanks, who purred contentedly.

That seemed to reassure Rose before she joined him in petting the cat and murmured:

"I'm gonna miss you, and Mum and Dad."

"You'll have Al with you," Hugo reassured her in another yawn. "Not to mention all our other cousins."

"Yeah, I s'ppose," she replied before adding almost impulsively: "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," he admitted before he was engulfed in his sister's strong hug and a cloud of abundant and curly auburn hair.

* * *

><p>She had barely changed in all these years. Her skin was still the same flawless ivory, highlighting the crimson lips he enjoyed kissing so much. And while his own hairline had seriously receded, her soft brown curls were still intact, without any trace of gray. Whether it was natural or the result of vanity and magic, he knew not. He did know his wife had been the salvation in his life. Two years. It had taken two years for her to forgive him, and fully commit to him by becoming his wife. Now that he had the hindsight, he realized how she had influenced his actions. Malfoy Apothecaries was more successful than it had ever been, thanks in no small part to the venture he had launched, that catered to curing dark magic results. Yes, the name Malfoy was still associated with the dark arts, but as a primary way to conquer its ill effects and Draco had to admit he was proud of this.<p>

But more than a new lease on life, Astoria had gifted him with the most precious thing in his life: a son. Scorpius might resemble him in look and had definitely inherited his skills for flying. Yet, Scorpius was more like his mother in character: highly intelligent, perceptive, well-assured, and still caring. And his pride and joy, his only son, was leaving them today to attend Hogwarts and Draco didn't want to think of the heartache this would create so he went back instead to watching his beautiful and beloved wife.

He was suddenly faced with the piercing blue eyes that seemed to always be able to see through him.

"Are you staring at me?" Astoria asked him in a yawn.

"Perhaps," he replied as a smile formed on his lips.

She returned it before letting out another loud yawn, seemingly chasing away the last vestiges of sleep.

"It's today, isn't it? He's leaving today."

"Yes," he sighed. "Today is the day."

And knowing his only son would soon be so far away from him made him wistfully aware of how much his life had changed. Sensing Astoria's equal dismay at the imminent departure of Scorpius, Draco took her hand and gently told her:

"He'll be back for Christmas. And we'll write."

She smiled wanly before adding:

"I'm gonna miss him."

A floor below, Scorpius was already dressed and enjoying a fabulous breakfast, compliment of Letty, the family house elf. The elf had been in his mother's family before and had doted on him since birth.

"I'm gonna miss you, Letty."

"And Letty will miss Master Scorpius."

"I'll be back by Christmas. I just hope I can make some friends."

And Scorpius was excited to finally get out of the handsome mansion where he had grown up. It was smaller than his grandmother's Manor but still very big, especially when most of the time, his only companions were his cat Mistigris or his parents or the dotting Letty. He knew some of his family's history and not all of it was good and had always assumed it was why his parents, his father especially, had been reluctant to let him see other children his own age. He knew his parents loved him but he often craved the company of someone his own age and he knew that was what he would find at Hogwarts.

* * *

><p>"Don't forget to look into your mirror," Hermione said as she felt slightly nervous at having Ron take his first driving expedition after just obtaining his Muggle driver's license.<p>

"Love, your faith in me is astounding," Ron dead-panned as he put the car in reverse and backed out of the garage. "I've been driving since I was twelve."

"Your father's enchanted Anglia doesn't count. Besides, if I remember well, that trip didn't end well."

"The car is a permanent fixture of the Forbidden Forest. Maybe Rose'll see it, won't you, Rosie?

"I thought the Forbidden Forest was off limit," Rose ventured.

"It is," Hermione said while glaring at Ron. "And don't you even think about going there."

The rest of the trip to King's Cross station was punctuated by her parents' light bantering and each passing minute reminded Rose how much she would miss them.

Her trunk was already in the train when she was deeply relieved to see her aunt, uncle and three cousins walk toward them. That was the other exciting part of the day: Al would be with her so she wouldn't be alone on her way to Hogwarts. Of course, there were many other cousins already there but she had to admit Al was the one she was closest to.

She turned her head in the direction her father had indicated when he mentioned the name Malfoy with obvious disdain. She saw the boy standing there, with a pointy chin and ash blond hair. There was nothing threatening about his appearance, she mused. Quite the contrary.

The good-byes were quick but no less poignant. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry and she didn't but the hug she gave her parents and brother definitely lingered for twice the time they should have lasted. She waved to them until they became dots on the platform as the train moved out of the station.

* * *

><p>It was a struggle to stop waving and turn around, even as there was nothing left of the scarlet engine. His little girl was gone. Ginny and George had both warned him it would be a difficult time, letting go his first-born on the train to Hogwarts. Instinctively, his arm tightened around Hermione's shoulders and he knew she was feeling the same sense of bereavement he did when she lay her head in the crook of his neck. He inhaled deeply as her voluminous hair came close under his still too long nose. It was her smell, her, the light of his life.<p>

"She'll be all right," he heard Hermione murmur, as much for himself as to convince herself.

"It was scary when I got on the train the first time," she told him. "I knew nobody and making friends had not been a speciality of mine in Muggle school. And then I met a living legend who had no clue who he was and this boy who was horrible at spells and had dirt on his nose."

The memory made him smile.

"I'm sure we can convince the living legend to skive off if you don't mind lunch at the Leaky with the boy with dirt on his nose."

She ignored the almost gagging sound coming from their son standing a short distance away as she turned to face Ron and lay a soft kiss on his lips.

"I'd love that."

* * *

><p>"Come on, Rosie, we have to find a compartment," Al told her gently as he grabbed her arm. "I don't want to share with James."<p>

Rose followed her cousin through the length of the train finding no empty compartment and deciding to venture in the one that looked the least frightening, the one with the blond boy her father had talked about.

"Can we come in?" Al enquired. "Everything else is full."

"Oh, sure, come in," the boy said as he moved some of his books and a rather fat gray cat out of the way.

"I'm Scorpius Malfoy," he said extending a hand.

"I'm Al Potter, and this is my cousin, Rosie Weasley."

"Rose, please," she said while shaking the offered hand.

"Charmed," Scorpius replied. "And this fur ball is Mistigris. I've been told he's a cat but he looks more like a furry rug if you ask me," Scorpius said as he petted the feline with obvious affection.

Al managed to stroke the cat and be rewarded by a purr but the cat just hissed at Rose when she attempted the same.

"I get the same reaction from Crookshanks sometimes," she laughed. "He's my Mum's cat. I'm more of a dog person but mum said no dog."

"Is that a chess game you have?" she asked him as she spotted a box amidst his possessions.

"Yeah. You play?"

"No, she wins, all the time. A bit annoying, really," Al interjected.

"Really? You wanna play," Scorpius asked Rose, undeterred.

"Yes, I do."

And after they had settled and put out the chessboard, the game began. Rose had to admit Scorpius was a worthwhile opponent, obviously knowing more than his fair share of chess strategy. Yet, in the end, as Al had predicted, she won the game, along with the three next ones.

"I told you," Al said as Scorpius frowned as Rose pronounced the fatal "Check Mate" for the fifth time.

"Where did you learn to play?"

"My Dad. He's always had a certain talent for it."

"My grandfather Greengrass taught me," Scorpius said. "He'd probably love to play against you," he added, smiling. "And I will beat you one day," he added with cheerful competitiveness.

"I doubt that," Rose replied with self-assurance, "but you're welcome to try."

As they chatted, played more chess, and scarfed down sweets from the trolley, their journey to Hogwarts went by very quickly. Rose found herself liking the boy her father had warned her against as he happened to be pleasant, rather funny and quite a valiant chess adversary. Whatever had happened between their parents had obviously tainted their perception of the other family. It didn't matter, really, Rose thought. Sometimes, some paths were just meant to cross.


End file.
